A Witch's Daughter
by The Flying Breadstick
Summary: Skipping straight to the author's notechapter 13 would be an extremely good idea here... DISCONTINUED
1. Raiding Civitavecchia

**Author's Note:** This is my first fic ever, so that would be why the first chapters will probably be crap. But I've been over it like, 10,000 times, trying to make it something people will want to read. Please be gentle!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own POTC. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction. I DO however own Catriona Woodcraft, Allanah Dove, Captain Gervaise Avarice, the Silver Chimera, and any other characters you don't recognise. So yeah, this chapter is basically completely mine. Yay!

**~*~ A Witch's Daughter ~*~**

**_Chapter One: _**_Raiding Civitavecchia_

"_Il_ pericoloso pirata! La Lamierina Sanguinante!"

"La Lamierina Pericoloso! Lei è qui!"

The screams of terror made Catriona smile in spite of herself. She didn't understand what they were saying, but then again, she didn't have to. The voices repeated the same cry over and over, and she was somewhat flattered. She could guess what they meant, seeing how they were all directed to her, pointing at her like she was a wild beast in a zoo; they were obviously crying out her nickname in horror. She knew nothing of the Italian language, except that it sounded rather pretty, but she could tell that much.

Maybe, she mused, she could learn the language. If they stuck around long enough. She'd always been a quick learner. But she could worry about those plans later.

Focusing on the task at hand, she turned to the captain. "I 'ave reason to believe they recognise me, sir." She told him simply.

"I knew you should have stayed below deck. Ye would stick out anywhere, bein' an English woman and all, 'specially on a ship full of Africans and Asians." He remarked, even though he was European himself. Captain Avarice chuckled slightly, rubbing his hands together. "Still, no harm done, eh? What say you we sack this port down to the las' cellar?"

"Aye, Cap'n." Catriona smiled. Her hand went automatically to the cutlass round her waist and she withdrew it. The sharp blade glinted in the moonlight and she turned it over, once again admiring its craftsmanship. A soft ocean breeze toyed with her golden hair, now silver in the moonlight, blowing the soft silky strands away from her face. Her dark purple-blue eyes, nearly black in the faint silver light, turned away from her blade to the shore.

As the rest of the crew climbed down the side of the _Silver Chimera_ and into their boats, Catriona stayed with her captain. Her orders were to stay on board until most of the port was secure, part of her 'training' for when she 'inevitably became a pirate captain' herself. Rule number one: when pillaging a ship / port / town, do not leave the ship, under any circumstances, until your crew has completely taken over.

But if that was what a captain did, Catriona wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to become one. She loved to fight — it was one of the highlights, in her opinion anyway, of being a pirate. She loved the adrenaline rush, the challenge, the sheer skill needed to triumph, the consequences of losing being death. But, cruising around the Mediterranean for five years, she knew basically all the different moves and fighting styles the locals of this sea had. She was fast becoming bored at the almost repetitive, routine way the battles had become.

And besides, a captain had to be brave in battle, lest he wished to suffer a mutiny and be marooned, or worse, killed. God, what was that man _thinking_?

Gervaise Avarice put a hand on her shoulder in a fatherly manner. "You're doing me proud, lass," he smiled, showing a flash of gold teeth. "Not even set foot on shore an' the locals are already runnin' from ye."

She smiled at the Frenchman and shrugged. "Why waste time threatening and killing by the numbers when a dangerous reputation can do that for you?" She replied, sounding like the lady she sometimes pretended to be. Sheathing her cutlass, she turned to the lass next to her. "What do you think?"

"Too much happenin' to 'ave thoughts 'bout reputations. Save the debate fer later what's I'm thinkin'." Allanah replied, nodding to where the screaming locals were running on the docks, terrified by the pirates invading their hometown. Allanah was one of many slaves from Africa, the same age as Catriona, and had joined Avarice and the crew shortly after Catriona had.

Catriona was only twelve when she had joined Avarice's crew. It had taken a lot of arguing, and she'd had to go through many 'tests' which most pirates didn't have to endure — such as how accurately she could shoot, if she was able to distinguish one end of a sword from another — but she understood. After all, who would want a useless twelve-year-old girl on their ship? Of course, she'd passed, and the crew welcomed her aboard the _Silver Chimera_. That was five years ago, and during that time she became an expert with an array of weapons and had learnt all there was to know about sailing. The _Chimera_ was crewed by many different men from different nations, countries and continents, and they had taught her how to use their native weapons and fighting styles, even the basics of their native tongues. She was fast becoming one of the best and well-known pirates to ever sail the seven seas at just seventeen, as the locals' yells had just proven.

Allanah, on the other hand, didn't really have much of a choice. Two years ago, Allanah's mistress, the daughter of a rich slave trader who was established in Tunisia, was kidnapped by the crew of the _Sliver Chimera_, and held ransom. Allanah was with her at the time, so the crew had taken her along too. The girl was held ransom and when her father had finally paid it, she had been returned. Allanah hadn't gone back with her. She didn't want to return to slavery after three months of being free — only the girl was held hostage — on the open seas, and Avarice allowed her to join his crew.

This was due in large part to Catriona, whom he'd come to love as a daughter — if pirates, or corsairs, seeing how they only operated in the Mediterranean — could or would afford to love. She'd begged for Allanah to be allowed to stay. She was familiar with the crew — they were like favourite uncles to her, but she was starting miss female company. She wanted a friendship with someone the same age as her. Avarice relented, realizing that Catriona would probably become more feminine, thus making her portrayal of a proper young lady all the more convincing — and it worked.

Despite the superstitious stories that it was bad luck to have women on board, Avarice and the crew had welcomed both Catriona and Allanah. The way they saw it, having two women on board, one black and the other white, helped them plunder numerous ports and settlements as well as ships. They could disguise themselves as honest merchants hoping to do trade in ports, and were welcomed as such, or as a ship that needed repairs out at sea. Catriona would play the role of Avarice's niece, a proper upper class lady, and Allanah would be her maid or slave, helping her to dress, do her hair…or so they hoped people would think.

They only carried out this little charade whenever they had spotted merchant or Navy ships, or were going to a port to stock up on supplies, do trade, and maybe even do a little kidnapping, like the whole thing with the slave trader and his whining, bloody annoying daughter.

Catriona snapped out of her thoughts, shaking her head slightly to focus on the task at hand. No point to be thinking about the past, especially about her life before she'd met Avarice, as she was sure that was where thoughts like those would lead to.

Grinning at her captain, who had shot her a quizzical look, she strode towards one of the rowing boats they had lowered and climbed down after Allanah. Screw her captain's training, she wanted to be a part of this battle, seeing how this was Allanah's first attack on a large town. _Next time, I'll stay on board next time_, she told herself, though part of her knew that this wasn't true.

She felt completely confident of course, adrenaline coursing through her, although something was gnawing at her stomach. _Something terrible's about to happen…I can feel it in my bones._ She pushed the thought away. Aye, Civitavecchia was a large port and larger town, but they'd raided big ports before. Why should this one be any different? And yet…

She remembered when she was twelve and had first plundered a town. She'd been scared and nervous, and the number of panicking, terrified people screaming and vainly trying to fight off the pirates did nothing to calm her nerves. Avarice had stuck close to her, watching and guiding her. When he wasn't with her, Cutthroat Bill was. They'd treated her like she was their daughter then; they treated her like she was their daughter now. Catriona had never known a father's love; heck, she'd never even known her father. Yet despite their presence, Catriona was still afraid. She'd gotten over it eventually — thank God, it would've been embarrassing to have an escort at seventeen.

Now, the same feeling — that feeling of apprehension, of almost certainty that something will go wrong — was engulfing her again, although not as strongly, and for a completely different reason. Not concern for Allanah; the girl could definitely take care of herself. It was her intuition, warning her of something…but what? Catriona knew it was for the best to listen to her instincts; past experiences, her religion and sheer common sense had taught her that much. But for once she decided to ignore the voice at the back of her head.

Shaking her head again, Catriona grinned at Allanah. The black girl had gone paler in the moonlight, her smooth black waves doing nothing to cover up the fear and self-doubt written plainly across her features. Reaching out, Catriona grabbed Allanah's left hand and squeezed it for support. "Don't worry. It's no different from raiding a small town or ship. You just have more choice."

Allanah nodded, though Catriona could see in her warm brown eyes that she was far from calm. "You feel it too, don't you?"

She and Catriona had this connection; they could feel what the other felt, knew what the other was thinking. They were like sisters in that aspect. They'd taught each other many different things; Catriona had learnt local African legends, herbs and their uses, religion, fortune telling…some might call it African 'magic', and she in turn had taught Allanah the principles of sword fighting, how to shoot straight with a pistol; the basics that one leading a piratical life _must_ know. And, of course, her own brand of witchcraft.

Catriona was the daughter of a whore. Some called her mother, Selene, a witch as well. Selene hadn't considered herself or her daughter witches. True, they had a unique religion very different from Christianity, but that didn't mean they were witches. Well, with their specific pagan religion, they technically _were_ witches, but both mother and daughter hated the stereotype that being accused of witchcraft forced them both into.

Selene preferred to be call Wiccans, or at least 'practitioners of Wicca.' That was the name of their religion. Wicca. That was before she had died, a memory Catriona preferred to keep buried, the complete opposite of what she liked to do with treasure.

Selene wasn't your average wench. She was like any other whore whilst she was working; shrewd and flirtatious, all hints and sexual innuendo. But when she wasn't, she was kind and caring, the nicest person Catriona had ever met. She also created medicines, which she'd sell for high prices. That was what made her become a witch, in people's minds; her desire to help the old and sick. She'll make profits while she could, but if someone was dying, she'll overlook the charges until they'd completely recovered.

Just a single mother, trying to provide enough to support both herself and her daughter. And yet, that was a crime, in the English people's eyes. And even though she was British, Catriona had started to hate the Brits with a passion, and not just because their Royal Navy were trying to hunt her and the rest of the crew down like rabid dogs. White-hot rage coursed through her whenever she thought of _that_ particular memory…but no, she couldn't.

Her mind was a complex network of hallways and corridors, her memories the doors lining them. There were a select few she would allow to be opened; most she kept locked, having thrown away the key. She'll never let those doors be open, and she'll certainly never tell another living soul what's behind them. Not even the people closest to her; Allanah, Avarice and Cutthroat.

Allanah's reply was so quiet that Catriona had to strain her ears to hear it, but it was still sudden enough to make her jump when her best friend spoke, bringing her back from God knows where. _'Hallways and corridors'? Dammit, what's wrong with me tonight?_ "What was that?"

"Yes. Catriona, something terrible's about to happen…I can feel it in my bones."

Her words, her thoughts. Exactly.

**~*~**

**AN:** *stares* Well that was longer than I expected. Sorry if that was boring, but the first couple of chapters are to set up the characters, their life stories, families, how they became pirates and stuff. So, what do you think? Should I continue, or should I just give up before I ruin the greatest movie of all time. PLEASE review! *big puppy dog eyes*

**AN2:** Oh, by the way, in case you've noticed, I've spelt magic without the k. That's 'cos I'm English, and here that's the right way of spelling it. Just a note for any other spelling 'mistakes' in the future, so don't criticise me on that, ok? And if there's any people who can speak Italian, sorry if I've got the beginning bit wrong. I don't know ANY Italian, but I try my best (the miracles of an English-Italian dictionary).


	2. Ship's Council

**Author's Note: **Beware. Bad language, weird magic rituals and names you can't possibly remember follows.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Jack *sob*. Or anything else, besides my freedom. Actually, that's partially owned by my parents. *brightens* I DO own anything you don't recognize, such as characters with long, weird names you can't remember (Catriona Woodcraft? Not very piratey or low class, is it? I just like the name).

**~*~ A Witch's Daughter ~*~**

**_Chapter Two:_**_ Ship's Council_

She could have kicked herself. How could she have been _so bloody_ stupid?! She had gut feelings — intuition, whichever you prefer — for a reason. She should know by now not to just push them away.

_Damn Spaniards. Damn Italians. Fuck all Europeans._ The thoughts became a mantra, repeating themselves inside her head. Frustrated beyond belief, she turned to the pretty girl lying unconscious in the boat beside her. A trail of blood trickled down her forehead where she'd been struck by a metal thing that had greatly resembled a broken part of some sort of light fixture. That same metal object was tucked away in a bundle of rags, along with the few other items she and Allanah had managed to grab before…well, before _they _showed up.

Catriona twisted in the cramped rowing boat and looked behind her, trying to peer over the broad shoulder of the man rowing the boat. "Are they still following us?" She demanded after failing to get a look at the chaos they had undoubtedly left on shore.

"Nay, lass." Despite his attempt to sound calm and collected, the man — Shi Nukuo, wasn't it? — looked and sounded worried.

"We be able to get away, once we reach _Silver_." An Arab, Ghalib Abdul, reassured her. "Don't worry, she be fine."

Catriona wasn't convinced. She thought they had lost Spanish Navy along the Barbary Coast, where they had pretended to be heading further west, to the Americas, in an effort to get them off their scent. Unfortunately, they had run into Santiago Lozano, a bounty/pirate hunter who had been actively pursuing them for months. _He must have tipped them off. _Catriona realized bitterly, and she once again cursed the Spanish.

They had finally reached the _Silver Chimera_. Catriona had never been more glad to see anything in her entire life. With a little help she was able to get Allanah up the rope ladder and on deck. The girl was surprisingly heavy for her slim frame, and Catriona stumbled backwards as the unexpected weight was shoved into her arms. Regaining her balance, she half carried, half dragged her unconscious companion below deck to her cabin.

Leaning Allanah against a wall, which she slid down immediately, she fumbled at her belt for the key. Untying the knot, she pulled it off the worn brown strip of leather and slipped it into the keyhole.

Most pirates didn't have their own private cabin, let alone one that locked, but Catriona was female, and the Captain's favourite, so she got both. Slipping the piece of silver in, she turned it, and with a click and a kick the door swung open. Pulling Allanah to her feet, she slung the unconscious deadweight's arm round her shoulder and dragged the taller girl to her oversized four-poster bed. Allanah landed with a thump and a groan.

_You'd think unconscious people would be even just a little bit easier to move,_ Catriona thought, but no. Turning the girl over so she was face up was a struggle within itself, as Allanah was very unwilling to move.

Moving to a wooden chest at the foot of the bed, Catriona fumbled for the key hanging around her neck and slipped it over her head. Gently, she opened the large chest and surveyed its contents. Grabbing a clean white cloth from the table (probably a napkin she hadn't yet used) and her favourite bottle of rum, Catriona applied the rum sparingly to the material. No point wasting good alcohol.

Kneeling, she gently dabbed at the head wound, just under Allanah's silky obsidian locks. There, the cleaning was taken care of. But the blood still flowed strongly, though. Catriona bit her bottom lip, worried. Head wounds were bad, and this one looked pretty deep. She could always…well, why not? Allanah wouldn't care; she was practically a witch herself. And no one would ever need know…and she wasn't going to curse anyone or do anything else that fell into the category of 'stupid.'

Getting up, she strode across the spacious cabin and to the door, closing it. The little light she had was completely gone, save for the moonlight filtering through the small windows. She went to the table and grabbed a packet of matches and a candle. Striking the match against the rough surface of the wooden wall, the match sputtered before coming to life. Picking up the candle, she carried it to the oak bedside cabinet and carefully put it down.

Turning her attention back to the unfortunate victim, Catriona knelt by the chest and fumbled for the right ingredients. Some finely grounded comfrey, some dogwood — pretty flowers, as well as useful. A light blue candle, amongst other things, was laid out on the white silk bedspread. Lighting the blue candle with the already lit one, Catriona set to work. She pulled the white gold talisman from beneath her stained, once blue-white cotton shirt and looked at it. The pentacle sparkled in the flickering candlelight, giving it an unnatural glow. Her mother had given it to her, when she was just a girl and her mother had taught her the basic principles of magic. It was something an aristocrat would own, not a pirate or common whore's daughter, and her most treasured possession. Just looking at it gave her strength and confidence.

Glancing at the unconscious Allanah's face, Catriona set to work, wiping the wound once again with the now bloodstained cloth. She should really be using salt water, not rum to clean the cut. Pressing the cloth to Allanah's forehead, she wrapped her red bandana around Allanah's head, effectively holding the cloth in place.

Stepping to the door, she peeked her head out and saw a boy, younger than her, rushing past her cabin, obviously going into the lower levels of the ship. "Hey! You there! I'm talking' to you!" The boy stopped, and she could tell in the faint light he was Arabic. "Run down to the galley and me a boiling pot of water — just plain water — and some salt or seawater."

The boy looked confused — he obviously didn't have a firm grip on the English language. "Sea water instead of water?" He repeated.

"No, you idiot! Seawater instead of salt! If ye don't go now, I'll personally see that ye get a taste of the cat, savvy?" She snapped, and fear flashed across the lad's face. He practically jumped down the flight of the stairs to the galley down below, and Catriona smiled to herself. Any mention, however small, of the cat o' nine tails, the whip used for flogging only the worst wrongdoers, was enough to send a fully-grown man running in the opposite direction.

Coming back in, she pulled a little clay bowl from the chest and sprinkled the comfrey into it while burning a pinch of the herb in the flame of the candle. The smell of the burning herb made Allanah stir a little, wrinkling her nose slightly. She imagined a glowing, white-blue light was coming from her hands, forming a circle, encircling her entire cabin. 'Circle casting', it was called. Nothing, however powerful, could get in or out now. Closing her eyes, Catriona silently chanted to the God and Goddess, Lord and Lady — whoever those two divine beings were.

_My powerful lord and lady fair_

_Thou watches over us all_

_I beg of thee do hear my prayer_

_And answer mine desperate call_

A little chant she'd learned, a bit strange and she was sure it wasn't entirely grammatically correct, but never the less effective. As she ran the words through her head, she tried to envision the Divine Beings she had invoked. There they were, two glowing figures, standing side by side, smiling kindly at her.

She fumbled for her athame, the beautifully crafted silver dagger with precious gemstones encrusted into the handle, which she highly favoured and only used in spells. Pointing in the direction she believed to be north, then east, south and west, she silently asked the four Elementals, Earth, Air, Fire and Water, to come to her aid as well.

Right…now, some visualizing of Allanah — no, of the whole _crew_ recovering from injuries and acting normally, some begging and grovelling of Divine Intervention, a ritualistic burning and cleansing — speaking of which, where was that damn lad? If he hadn't brought up water, she'll make sure he'll have a personal audience with the cat for real…

Opening the door she saw a small iron pot of water and some salt on a plate. _Too scared to even knock? Should I feel proud and flattered, or embarrassed for him?_

"Feel proud while you still can."

Catriona spun around, shocked, expecting to see Allanah sitting up, rubbing her forehead, but she was just as still as ever. That voice…so bloody familiar…

Grabbing the pot and plate, she ducked back inside and poured some of the water into a goblet before adding a few herbs in after it. Swirling until it was as mixed as possible, she not-so-gently shoved it between Allanah's unresponsive lips, tipping the contents down her throat.

There was a reaction; Allanah coughed and sputtered, sat up and looked around. "What bloody happened?" Were the first words to come out of the patient's mouth.

Shaking her head, Catriona grinned at her. "Later, mate. Drink up." She shoved the goblet into her hands. "And eat." There went the olives she had picked up — when they were retreating from Civitavecchia, she didn't want to come back completely empty-handed, and had grabbed the first bag she saw. "Now, I've got to go see the Cap'n, ask him why we haven't set sail yet." She packed all the spell ingredients and locked the chest, slipping the key over her golden head. Stuffing the pentacle back where it belonged, she turned to the girl currently occupying her bed. "Stay here, I'll be back."

~*~*~*~

"Catriona!" Avarice nearly hugged her, but stopped himself just in time. "Where were ye, lass?"

"Below, in me cabin, helping Allanah." She stated simply. "Why haven't ye set sail yet?"

"Let go the anchor! Unfurl the sails! We be sailin' towards the Atlantic!" Avarice turned back to Catriona and held up two fingers. "One; I didn't know if ye was aboard yet, and I'll not be leavin' me best pirate if all the Navies o' the world was comin' after me." Catriona brightened at the compliment. "Two, we don't 'ave a place to sail _to_. All the Spanish are at all the ports waitin' fer us. This could be the end o' the line for us. The crew of the _Chimera_, I mean."

"No way in hell!" Catriona resisted the urge to unsheathe her cutlass and slice something in half. Preferably something that wore a Navy uniform and pranced around in a wig. "Ye can't be serious, Avarice!" At his look, she added hastily, "Captain, sir. My mistake, sincerest of me apologies."

"But we ain't going down without a fight lass, I promise ye that." Avarice looked at her intently, studying her expression.

"Don't bother. We ain't going down at all, sir."

Avarice smiled. "That's what I like to hear. There be ship's council after we dine. Get Allanah to come. Everyone attending, an' then we decide where ter go next. That's an order."

~*~*~*~

Ship's council was when every crewmember of the _Chimera_ — including the rats — gathered and decided on their next course of action. Avarice was a smart man — letting the crew decide what to do meant there was more trust and less hostility towards the captain. And less hostility meant less chance of a mutiny.

All the injured, including Allanah, appeared on deck, ready to have their say.

"I think we should travel to the Orient." A short Chinese man with a long thin black braid spoke up.

"Why would we want to go there? A bunch o' slanty-eyed blokes who can kill ye with their bare hands is worth some small little trinket?" There were murmurs of agreement.

Catriona spoke up. "China, Japan, India — they're all full of gold and silver, diamonds and rubies. That's true enough. But think about it, mates." Catriona looked around, making sure she had every man's attention. "Navy will be all the more likely to sail in those waters, ready to catch ships like us 'cause of that. And what do ye think the East India Company was invented for? Transporting sugar?" She didn't know what the East India Company was invented for exactly, but she guessed most of the crew didn't either.

"We can always disguise ourselves like merchants —" a tall black man began, but Catriona cut him off.

"Don't be stupid. They'll search the ship, see the cannons, the gold, not a stock of grain and such to be found, 'cept what's in the galley —"

"That's what we've been doing for the past five years, and it worked well so far." Countered another man.

Catriona ignored him. "Lads, why waste time an' effort trying not to get killed in the East when we can head west? I'm talkin' about warmer weather, nicer beaches, just as much swag as any other place in the world. True, most of His Majesty's Armed Forces are there. Incompetent bastards the lot of them, what with the near unlimited supply of rum around…"That caught their attention, if nothing else did. Standing up and giving her most charming smile, Catriona spread her hands. "I am, of course, talking about the Caribbean, mates."

"Don't be a fool, you're smarter than that!" Avarice was by her side in a flash, grabbing her wrist roughly. "We talked about this, love."

Catriona rolled her eyes. "I know, Cap'n. Somethin' to do with Cutthroat." She glanced around. "Who ain't even here."

"He has reasons." Avarice growled.

Catriona pulled her wrist from his vice-like grip. "I know. Look, Captain, I love you and Bill like fathers, both of ye. But I can't understand why Bill don't want to go to the Caribbean."

"Not anymore." Speak of the devil, there was Cutthroat himself. The moonlight fell across his handsome features. Beside her, Avarice was gazing, open-mouthed. "Cutthroat! You…ye feelin' better then? That cursed illness that afflicted ye so gone?"

"Aye." Bill flexed his fingers. "A complete miracle, if ye ask me. But Cat, darlin', if ye want to go to the Caribbean, ye got my vote."

Catriona beamed, her deep blue eyes sparkling. She would have asked him what changed his mind, but didn't want to remind him that he was against the Caribbean in the first place. Avarice was just as ecstatic as Catriona. He probably yearned to go to the Caribbean as well.

"All right lads, let's put it to a vote. Three options, raise yer hands. All in favour of stayin' in the Mediterranean?"

Not one hand was raised.

Avarice grinned, rubbing his hands together with glee. "How 'bout China, eh?" He waited. "And the Caribbean?"

The vote was unanimous. "All right, to the Caribbean it be. Set course for the Canary Islands. We'll be stocking up supplies there. It's a long voyage across the Atlantic. Miss Woodcraft, Miss Dove! From now on you'll be actin' like a proper lady and servant and be treated as such, ye understand? Got that, mates? No more scrubbin' the deck for these lasses. And start dressing like some, too. You two!" He pointed to a couple of pirates. "I want ye to bring up as many barrels as ye can. We're having a celebration." There were cheers all around.

Allanah groaned as she struggled to stand, clutching her head and moaning. "Well, Miss Woodcraft, I'll be retirin' to me cabin now."

Catriona was astonished. "Don't ye want to have some fun, rum and free entertainment?"

Allanah shook her head. "What I want is to sleep and ne'er awaken."

"That's understandable." Catriona nodded. "Good dreams, sweet night."

"And you."

Catriona made her way to the Captain's cabin, where she saw Bill and Avarice slip in. She meant to ask what had changed their minds, but stopped short just outside the door.

"You're sure?" Avarice, obviously pacing up and down with worry. "If you're not mate, I don't —"

"Look, do ye want me to tell ye again? I was lookin' out at the shore and I felt somethin' funny. I looked down at meself, and could tell straight away I'm better. Besides, I heard that my son's in the Caribbean."

They were having a private conversation, about Bill's illness and life in general, and while Catriona wouldn't hesitate in eavesdropping normally, she had too much respect for the both of them. Damn morals.

Sighing, she moved away, thinking she'll just join a group of drunks, when the mention of her name made her stop in her tracks. She hesitated, but curiosity overcame righteousness. Screw the scruples; they can't have a conversation about her behind her back.

Moving closer, she heard Avarice speak. "I think it's a good idea, but well, arranged marriage…"

_Arranged _what_?!_ She thought, stunned. _They can't marry me off like a rich lady!_

"I never said arranged marriage. I merely hinted it'll be better if she was to…settle on land, and my lad's the man for her if she does."

"But you haven't seen him in nigh ten years, mate. He can be completely different. How old's your boy, anyway?"

"Couple of years older than Catriona here. And from my reliable sources, he's a good lad. She'll be happy."

This is not bloody happening. Oh, God, it is.

"But —"

"She'll make — she _is _— an excellent pirate, but I've grown to care for her over the years."

It would have been terribly sweet if the topic of conversation wasn't so terribly sick.

"Look, we're not gonna set 'em up. We'll introduce them, see how they get on, and at least they'll become good friends."

"Good. Catriona would be more dangerous if she knew of this."

Avarice didn't know how close he was to the truth. Catriona was about ready to barge in there and strangle him.

But they were giving her a choice, thank God. Now that she thought about it, she wouldn't mind being married to a man. She just wasn't sure if she could get used to the land. If she had a husband, he'll have to be incredibly understanding and let her go on these ventures. Or a pirate himself. Even better.

Catriona shook her head. She was seventeen, and while it was common enough for girls her age and younger to be married, she wasn't going to adapt so easily. She most definitely didn't want to get tied down so young.

She shook her head, moving towards the barrels. They were going to the Caribbean! It was a time for drunk partying, not self-pity. Besides, if she had enough rum, she'll wake up with a massive hangover and completely forget the unpleasant prospect of marital matrimony she just heard.

**~*~**

**AN: **It's done! Longer and hopefully better than last time. If anyone's reading this, please review! I'll bake muffins! Chocolate chip! *everyone runs away in terror*


	3. Selene, Swann and Sparrow

**Author's Note:** Jack FINALLY comes in! *everybody cheers* It was either now or never…hope he's IC. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Nope, don't own it. POTC belongs to a mouse with oversized ears and red shorts (they ARE red, right?). But I'm really good at imagining that I do…my psychiatrist says that's a bad thing, though…

**~*~ A Witch's Daughter ~*~**

**_Chapter Three: _**_Selene, Swann and Sparrow_

*~*~*~*

_"Catriona! Get back here _now_!"_

_Catriona looked away from the gentleman she'd been conversing with, startled at the fury in her mother's voice. With a backwards glance and an apologetic — or as apologetic a smile a child of eight can muster — Catriona hopped off the stool she'd been occupying, hurrying to do her mother's bidding._

_Selene pulled her roughly, but not painfully, away from the view of every customer in the Bright Star, into the kitchen. Grabbing her daughter's shoulders, Selene crouched down, green eyes blazing with fury as she stared into her daughter's bewildered blue ones. "Catriona, what have I told you about talking to the customers?"_

_"You told me to stay away from dangerous men. You said I was only allowed to go near nice ones." Catriona repeated, still confused. The red-haired man she'd been talking with certainly fell into the category of 'nice'. He'd given her three shillings and even bought her a drink of water. Selene had always taught Catriona to be polite, to behave like the lady that she wasn't, and it seemed, at least in Catriona's young mind, rude to _not_ talk with a man as nice as he._

_"And what is the type of man, or rather, people, that you must stay away from at all times?" Selene inquired, as if somehow her deadly tone will make Catriona remember and therefore keep her only daughter safe._

_Catriona had never forgotten. "Pirates," she said without hesitation. "Pirates are the worst, mummy."_

_"So why in God's name were you talking to one?"_

_Catriona's large violet eyes widened. "I wasn't, mummy. He was a gen'leman."_

_Selene sighed, smiling at her daughter's naivety. "Some pirates, love, look an' dress like _gentlemen_," she revealed, pronouncing the word properly. Selene wanted Catriona to marry into the upper class when she was older, knowing that her looks, mannerisms and accent would be enough to bowl over any young, unworldly aristocrat. The theory was that if Catriona was to marry into nobility, she wouldn't have to beg, steal, cheat or sell herself like Selene was forced to do. "Speak like them too, but they're not, all right?"_

_"Well — how can you tell them apart, then?" Catriona's innocence, coupled with the look in those unusual-coloured, though by all means still beautiful, eyes was enough to turn even the most impassive, cold-hearted of men into puddles on the spot, not unlike a puppy's. It certainly had that effect on Selene._

_"A gentleman would never carry weapons, sweetheart," she replied, placing a kiss on Catriona's brow. "Now go back into the kitchens, and stay close to Anna, all right?"_

_"Yes, mother." Catriona replied brightly, moving to comply._

_"Kitten?" Catriona turned back, an expression of pure curiosity on her young face. Snatching up her daughter's hand, Selene held it gently between her own. She looked pleadingly into her daughter's startled eyes, her emerald orbs talking for her. "Promise me one thing?"_

_Catriona was surprised at the seriousness in her mother's voice. "Of course. Anything."_

_"No matter what happens, don't ever become a pirate, or a pirate's love."_

_Catriona's blue eyes, if possible, widened further still, surprised at the request. "I promise, as the Lord an' Lady are me — my — witnesses," she said, referring to the spirits/gods that she and her mother both believed in and respected, showing that she wasn't giving her word lightly, while wondering why on earth her mother was asking such a thing._

It was an oath she never intended on breaking.__

~*~*~*~

"Give it 'ere, lass. Pretty thing like that ain't meant fer little girls such as yerself." Lilith, an ugly whore with dirty brown hair and so much makeup she must have applied it by the shovelful, made a snatch for the white-gold necklace that fell to the nine year old Catriona's stomach. The child had reflexes like lightning, though, and spun out of the prostitute's reach.

The precious gemstones glinted in the faint firelight, giving off the impression it was glowing in the dimly lit interior of the Bright Star. "No!" She snapped, clutching the pentacle as though her life depended on it.

The wench let out an animalistic snarl. "C'mon, lass. Don't you be stupid. Give it to ol' aun'ie Lilith here; she'll take care of it better than any stupid kid could ever hope to."

"You got the 'old' part right." Catriona retorted. Even as a child, she had a quick tongue and fiery, but thankfully rare, temper. Years on the account had taught Catriona control and self-restraint, if nothing else; she'd have simply ignored Lilith now.

Enraged, Lilith raised a hand. "Why, you little —"

"That's enough, Lilith." Selene's calm, steely voice interrupted. A pale hand wrapped itself around the raised wrist, and a glinting dagger hovered over the evil wench's heart. An expression of fear and fury crossed over her less than attractive features. Wrenching her arm out of Selene's grip, she gave one more look of pure loathing to Catriona before disappearing. Lowering her weapon, Selene beckoned Catriona closer.

"Listen to me, darling," she said, shoving the beautifully crafted piece of jewellery into the top of her daughter's dark blue dress, "never, ever, let anyone see your pentacle, all right? Especially not Lilith. Don't ever take it off neither; 'specially with Lilith around."

Catriona nodded, thinking that the urgency and importance of her mother's words was due to the fact that the pentacle was rare and valuable, a symbol of the religion they practised.

"Good girl; I knew ye'd understand." She kissed her daughter's cheek. "Take care, my kitten."

It sounded like she was saying goodbye. "Mum? Mummy? Where are you going? Come back!"

But she had disappeared, lost amongst the patrons of the Bright Star.

*~*~*~*

Catriona awoke with a start, sitting up in bed. Looking down at the red material covering her form, it took her a moment to realize where she was. In her locked cabin, on the ship the Silver Chimera. The _pirate_ _Silver Chimera_.

Her mother's words echoed back at her, mocking her; _"No matter what happens, don't ever become a pirate."_

And her own reply, given without hesitation, full of sincerity: _"I promise, as the Lord and Lady are my witnesses."_

Strange, how she could remember a conversation from nine years ago, however short, word for word, and yet five years ago she had thought of nothing but her own survival, neglecting and breaking all the oaths she'd ever made. The several times her mother had come back home with a bruise or scratch that ruined her mother's otherwise perfect pale beauty, Catriona swore to herself she will never purposefully hurt a living creature, physically or otherwise. Eleven years ago, when Mary, the woman that watched her was found brutally murdered after her house had been pillaged, Catriona promised she'd never kill a living creature, not even a fly. Spiders and other pests were the only exceptions.

Five years ago, when she'd signed on to the _Chimera_, the moment that quill, dipped in her own blood, had touched the paper, she had broken every single vow.

She reached beneath her overlarge white shirt, pulling out the pentacle. It no long reached her stomach, falling between her breasts instead. It glinted in the light of the rising sun coming through a window, reflecting a rainbow of gold and crimson, mixed with a few hues of blue and violet, spots dancing around the otherwise bare room. She studied it, not for the first time overwhelmed by its beauty. Inside the circular band was a five-point star. At the end of each point was a different gemstone, the topmost being amethyst, going in a clockwise direction so the next was a small circular ruby the exact size and shape of the amethyst, followed by an emerald, sapphire, and finally citrine. In the centre of the star was the largest stone, a circular turquoise, her birthstone, and between each point was the smallest aquamarine stones, the birthstone of her mother.

She shook her head, ridding herself of such thoughts. What was done was done; and she reminisced over the past enough in her dreams — or rather, nightmares. Throwing the covers aside, she stood up, slipping on a worn, dirty, brown coat and tying her waist-length hair back with a stained black ribbon. Pulling on equally worn, originally black boots, she strode into the hallway without even glancing once into the dirty mirror, locking the door and slipping the key over her neck. She headed towards the stairs with an awareness, confidence, purpose and grace that was just unnatural for a human being to possess at quarter to five in the morning.

The galley was quiet, as she had correctly predicted. The cook wasn't even up, no doubt probably sprawled unconscious in a hammock somewhere. Catriona smiled as she replayed the events of the previous night over in her mind, grinning. The captain had let the entire crew celebrate the successful raid on Port Royal. They hadn't barged in and taken everything in sight, like in Civitavecchia. No, they were more subtle this time. The poor governor had probably returned to his mansion to find all his servants unconscious, all valuables gone, and a little piece of paper concerning the whereabouts and welfare of his darling daughter.

Pulling a mug from one of the many cupboards lining the walls, she poured herself a glass of cool water and grabbing an apple, headed up to the deck. The deck was quiet, with only a few very tired men on the night shift fighting to stay awake for company. Heading towards the helm of the ship, Catriona leaned against the rail, watching the gentle waves that rocked the ship ever so slightly from side to side change colour with the sky and the ascending sun. Newly commandeered vessels trailed after them, like dogs following their master.

A beautiful thing, the sea. Her mother had once said that the god Neptune ruled over it, controlling every slight wave, how far the tide came in, even the wind that blew across her constantly rippling surface. She found that legend particularly hard to believe; the ocean was her own mistress, as temperamental and unpredictable as the sky that stretched above her. She could not be ruled over, controlled or tamed, only understood and accepted. Catriona both understood and accepted this, unlike the many men that seek to dominate her, to harness her for their own selfish purposes. Such men eventually met their end; by storm or reef, only she would decide; only she knew their unfortunate fates.

"Très beau, non?"

Catriona jumped, dropping the consumed apple she'd been holding. It took her a moment to realize what the Captain had just asked. "Oh yes, very." She replied softly. Then her tone hardened. "Although I suppose you wouldn't marry _her_ off." She said, meaning the glittering ocean.

"Sorry? You mean the wench?" He asked, referring to the unfortunate hostage tied up in the brig.

"Never mind." She shook her head, dismissing the topic. If he didn't know, she sure as hell wasn't going to tell him. Besides, maybe they were both drunk, him and Bill. There was a lot of rum going round that night, and even if they were, she didn't want to give them any ideas. _Bill…Cutthroat. Left us at Port Royal. Didn't want to delay the reunion with his wife and kids any longer. Sweet really._ She dimly wondered if anyone else had conversations with themselves inside their heads. Not bloody likely.

"Well what are ye waiting for? I want you to go check on our unwilling passenger."

"Why?" She asked. Then she remembered something. "Sir, about our little Swann —"

"Aye?" Avarice turned to look at her, his grey eyes on hers.

"Do you think — well, Captain, 'ave you actually spoke to her yet?"

"No." He frowned. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Catriona hesitated before continuing. She didn't want Avarice thinking she'd gone soft or anything. "Well, I mean, she's a nice enough lass. And I don't think she'll be causing any trouble, but…" She hesitated. "She has been abducted by pirates before, Captain. I think it a good idea that she should be kept somewhere where we can keep an eye on her more, not down in the brig."

Avarice considered her suggestion, brow furrowed. "I should think so, lass. Been kidnapped before, ain't she? We'll just keep her in your cabin."

My_ cabin?! Should have kept me bloody mouth shut. _"Aye, sir." Catriona said aloud. She saluted before draining the cup and turning away. Meeting a man halfway down the steps, she shoved the now empty container into the surprised African's hands. "Take tha' to the galley, will yer?" She asked him sweetly.

~*~*~*~ ***

Elizabeth woke up in complete darkness with a pain in her head and a nauseous feeling in her stomach. Opening her eyes, she dimly registered a — a _cloth_ ceiling? Turning her head, she saw a thick dark velvet curtain. This wasn't her bed. Even _she_, the governor's daughter, didn't have such fine silk sheets resting beneath her. And when she went to sleep, she always made sure the coverlet was on her, not beneath her. And her room didn't sway from side to side, either. She pulled the soft velvet back — big mistake. Bright sunlight hit her, blinding her. Covering her eyes, she slowly tried to stand, stumbling a little.

"Awake?" Elizabeth jumped at the voice. Turning, she saw a girl that looked vaguely familiar. She was obviously a pirate, with navy blue trousers, brown boots, and a dark blue vest over a white shirt stained with what looked horribly like blood on the sleeves. She was sitting on a desk, one leg propped up on the chair while the other dangled down, sharpening an already dangerous-looking sword aggressively. She hadn't even looked at Elizabeth.

"Where am I?" She asked. Dear God, her head hurt more than she had ever thought possible.

The girl looked up for the first time and Elizabeth realized how young she was. _Younger than me…_ "Don't you remember?" She questioned, purple-blue eyes regarding her with boredom. At Elizabeth's completely blank look she sighed. "You've been sleepin' — in _my_ bed, might I add — for the past couple o' days, ever since that little party to celebrate the hanging of an entire crew, which was to take place next day." The disgust in her voice was evident. She put the curved sword — _a cutlass_, Elizabeth reminded herself — down next to her on the desk, where several other different types of swords and weapons laid. Picking up a wicked looking dagger, slightly curved and with an engraved ivory hilt, she glanced at Elizabeth for a mere moment. Balancing it on the tip of her finger, she single-handedly flipped it up and caught it again. Elizabeth grudgingly admitted it was impressive; it made Will's sword tricks look like child's play. "You'll be happy to know they're completely out of harm's way, thanks to a few close friends of mine."

Elizabeth's face paled and her brown eyes widened. "You helped those — those _heathens_ to escape death?"

The girl stopped playing with the dagger and looked at her straight in the eye. "Aye, that I did. Don't look so shocked; you did exactly the same thing."

"That was completely different!" Elizabeth snapped, enraged from both the pain and the fact that this — this _girl_, this damn, irritatingly pretty girl, had failed to give her any answers. She seemed to find Elizabeth's little outburst amusing, and that, of course, only infuriated her more. Suddenly. She realized where she'd seen the conniving little wench before. "Why do you not answer my question, _Jane_?" She nearly yelled.

'Jane' grinned, shaking her blonde head. The curls from that night at the fort were still there, though they were more like waves instead of ringlets now. "You are on the fastest ship in the Caribbean, heading to good ol' Tortuga. You've been kidnapped and you're currently held ransom, and if your daddy don't pay soon, well…" She paused, as though considering how to break this to Elizabeth. "Well, can ye say 'Singapore' and 'whore' in a two-word sentence? And it's Catriona."

Elizabeth was more intimidated by the dagger Catriona was carelessly tossing up and down than by what was just said. "You're wrong." She said smugly. "This ship can't possibly be the fastest ship in the Caribbean, as that title is given to Jack Sparrow and the _Black Pearl_, who is without doubt looking for me with my fiancé, along with the entire British Navy, so I suggest you return me to Port Royal immediately, and you may be spared the gallows."

Catriona waved a hand in the general direction of the window, grinning. "Look out, mate, an' tell me what you see."

Elizabeth did as she was told and gasped. The _HMS Dauntless_, along with several other Navy ships that have carried important officials to the previous Black Pearl's crew's hanging were floating either alongside or behind whatever ship they were on now. "It's not possible…" She whispered, for the first time truly afraid for her life.

"It can be done. Commandeering an entire fleet of His Majesty's Navy. Well rather, several parts of different fleets, which make up one whole fleet."

Catriona not so gently grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders, spinning around her so that the older, slightly taller girl was looking at her. "Have you ever heard of Gervaise Avarice?" She questioned softly, knowing the older girl was frightened out of her wits.

The name sounded familiar…not in a good way. "The _Silver Chimera_." She realized. So that meant…

Weeks ago, just after Jack had escaped from being hanged after rescuing her from Barbossa and his crew, her father and Commodore Norrington had both received a letter from an Italian captain, warning him of a dangerous pirate ship believed to be sailing towards the Caribbean. The man had warned that although the entire crew were bloodthirsty and violent, there was one that was particularly dangerous. A pirate that looked deceptively innocent, but who was, in fact, 'one of Satan' handmaidens in the guise of an angel', as the captain had put it.

Elizabeth knew no Italian, but the letter had been translated, and the good captain had referred to this pirate by five commonly used names throughout; _Servo del Satan_, 'Satan's Servant', a witch, _Scourge del Mediterraneo_, 'Scourge of the Mediterranean', _Lamierina Sanguinante_, 'Bloody Blade', _Lamierina Pericoloso_, 'Dangerous Blade', and finally…Catriona Woodcraft.

As if reading her thoughts, the pirate gave her a friendly pat on right shoulder. "Don't worry," the blonde said in a tone that greatly resembled one of soothing, "it's all just rumours."

~*~*~*~ ***

"So, let me get this straight," Jack Sparrow said on the deck of his beloved _Pearl_. "Miss Swann, _your_ future daughter-in-law, has been kidnapped, we go to get her back 'cause we're the only ones in Port Royal with a ship — and one that's been badly damaged, mind — she's been gone for three days, and you pick now to tell me that you helped kidnapped said daughter-in-law, and the ship we're after is faster than the _Pearl_, and the most dangerous pirate on that vessel is the only one you want to be completely unharmed, because the one with the most violent reputation is also the most merciful so 'e shouldn't be harmed?"

Bootstrap, or Cutthroat as he was known to the crew of the _Chimera_, shrugged. "Got it in one, mate."

Jack stared, open-mouthed. "You do realize your _son_'s bride-to-be was the one taken? And young Will is near ready to murder the entire crew that made with the kidnapping? He's down below now, no doubt practising with his little swords down below, or else thinking 'bout his beloved." The whole idea was too insane, even for him. That, coupled with the fact that your best friend wasn't as dead as one would think, and how you met said friend right after waking up and realizing you had a hangover could cause one to doubt his companion's sanity. Turning back to the wheel, Jack glanced at his compass — one that actually pointed north, and turned the wheel slightly, setting the course for Tortuga. "Ye sure they'll be there?" He asked doubtfully.

Bill Turner nodded. "Aye, Jack. They commandeered an entire fleet, and Tortuga's the nearest port friendly to pirates. Avarice will be wanting to divide his and Barbossa's crew equally amongst them all. Good captain—that's why we be negotiating with him instead o' attackin' him in the middle of the ocean. Knew I was cursed, saw me 'e did. Still let me on his ship. He's a good man, Avarice — when he realized that pirates were hanging 'e did what he thought right —sprung them from jail, and got a fleet and their 'unwavering' loyalty in the progress."

Jack snorted, shaking his head, the beads in his hair clinking slightly. "So this Avarice — decent bloke?"

"Better than you, Capt'n." Bill smiled.

Jack whirled around, pointing with both his index fingers and swaying drunkenly on the spot. He obviously hadn't completely recovered from the alcohol-induced migraine. "Remember whose ship yer on, mate."

Bill grinned back, saluting Jack. "Aye, sir."

Turning back to the rudder, Jack checked the bearings, turning the wheel every so often. "So…this blade pirate ye mentioned — Navy after 'im, you say?"

"_Her_. Didn't I tell ye she was a her?"

Jack shrugged. "Probably."

"Yeah, Navy after her. Na_vies _— plural. Big reward for her head, her only, an' the price gets higher by the hour."

"Bloody 'ell," Jack mused. "How old is the lass?"

"Seventeen." Bill laughed out loud at the expression on Jack's face. "I know, I know. Been on the account for five years. Ran away from somethin' when she was just twelve. She's one of the best you'll ever meet Jack. Complete legend in Europe and Africa."

"Seventeen year old lass, eh? That's interesting…" Jack trailed off.

Bootstrap wasn't Sparrow's friend for nothing. He knew that look and tone of voice, and he meant to discourage Jack as much as possible. He did see Catriona as his daughter, after all. "You haven't even laid eyes on her, and you're already trying to work out how best to bed her, Jack. She can be an ugly ol' crone for all you know."

"Ah," Jack said with a hand gesture, "but you said it yourself that she's young, and fiery to boot."

"Who?" Will Turner had appeared, holding a scrunched up ball of paper in his fist, wearing worn creased clothing and a scowl.

"What's wrong, son?" Bootstrap asked, feeling a strange sensation as he said the last word. Ten years without seeing his child could do that to a man. His mouth had some difficulty with forming the word.

"I just discovered whilst reading a letter from the Governor that one of the most dangerous and wanted pirates at the moment is on the same ship as Elizabeth!" Will fumed, glaring at the paper as though _it_ had abducted his fiancée. Carefully restoring the 'wanted' poster to its original position, Will shoved it in front of Bootstrap's nose. He loved his father, but when it comes to choosing whether to focus on the father you thought dead and your soul mate who's in some unspeakable danger, you tend to go for the latter. Jack craned his neck to try, and fail, to see the face of the most talked about pirate lass. "You sailed with _this_ pirate, father. Is Elizabeth going to be all right?" The concern in his brown eyes was deeply touching.

"She'll be fine, lad. No one on the _Chimera_ will harm a single hair on her pretty head. 'Specially not 'Lamierina'." He patted Will's shoulder as a comforting gesture before going below deck, probably to ravage for rum or food.

"Let's see that, mate." Will looked confused but handed the creased yellowed paper to the Captain. "Thanks lad. Don't just stand there like some helpless idiot; go help Gibbs with the ropes!" Will looked at the older man strangely before strolling off to join Gibbs. Checking the compass, he turned the wheel a little to the left. Glancing at the poster Jack grinned. "Not bad," he admitted as he read through all her listed crimes. They were fairly even; he sacked more towns and ports, but he'd been a pirate for longer; _she_ had commandeered more ships, the most recent being the ships at Port Royal, but she wasn't exactly hard on the eyes, and knowing the Navy officers like he did, that proved to her advantage.

He studied her face and shoulders, her only features on the poster. Blonde, with clear skin and dark eyes framed by long lashes, if the black and white sketch was anywhere near accurate. Noting one final crime at the bottom, he raised his eyebrows. "'Witchcraft'?" He believed in cursed treasure and skeletal monkeys and Aztec gods; that was fine; he found _that_ easy to believe. But Captain Jack Sparrow was pretty sceptical when it came to witchcraft and magic and devil worshippers.

"Capt'n! Ye're goin' too far east!" Nodding his thanks to some anonymous sailor, Jack hastily turned the wheel in the opposite direction, shoving Catriona Woodcraft's poster into his inner coat pocket. He had a feeling that when they met; not if, when, things were going to be very…interesting.

**~*~**

**AN:** OK, so Jack and Cat didn't actually talk face to face or even see each other, 'cept for Jack, who no doubt has some dirty little thoughts running through his mind…What do you think? I kept rewriting this chapter cos I couldn't get Jack right. He's a hard character for me to write. You think he was OOC? You should have seen him in the other ones…*shudder* *cough*lovesick puppy*cough* So REVIEW, and if you have any suggestions to make Jack more IC, then I would love to hear it.

**JessieRose:** Thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU! You're my first reviewer EVER! Here are muffins, just like I promised! *gives JR two baskets full of muffins*

**AN2: **I think I finally figured out the formatting for ff.net! Not that that's important…


	4. Avarice's Paranoia

**AN:** SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!! Now take those sorry's, times it by a million, and you might get an inkling of how many times I feel I should apologise. No, seriously, when I'm reading a fic and I really like it then the author stops, I either get really pissed or depressed. Or both, so believe me when I say, I know how you feel. I'll make my excuses AFTER the chapter.

**Disclaimer:** For the last time in this fic, the only thing I own that's POTC related is the DVD. Or believe me, I will be wreaking havoc on the script for the sequel…

**~*~ A Witch's Daughter ~*~**

**_Chapter Four:_**_ Avarice's Paranoia_ (for lack of a better title)

"But you must know of _some_ hidden cove they can anchor at!" Will pointed out, an inch away from strangling the pirate captain he was currently sailing under. Said captain ignored the young blacksmith, calmly studying the map of the Caribbean in front of him. He merely raised an eyebrow when Will, having calmed down, offered to bury the hatchet — in Jack's skull if he didn't discover the whereabouts of Elizabeth soon. Personally, Jack thought he was overreacting; all this for one girl? The kid needed to spend more time less sober.

"Will, Will, Will…" Jack sympathised, shaking his head and patting him on the shoulder in an irritatingly patronizing manner. "You've got to calm down, mate. It'll do Lizzie no good if you've lost your head before you even lay eyes on 'er. Though it won't be a great loss," Jack added contemplatively, fingers tapping on his chin as he spoke. As soon as Bootstrap had returned, all potential risk-free eunuch jokes had gone out the window, so Jack only had Will's tendency to not think to taunt.

"How many times have you been to Tortuga?" Will challenged. Jack's brow furrowed in thought as he started counting on his fingers. "The point is that you must have docked away from the main port at some time in your life."

"Why? It's a pirate haven; do ye realise how rare those are? May as well take advantage of the fact."

"But the Navy must've —"

"Young William, the Navy, whom you seem to think are some type of heroes are, in fact, all incompetent conscripts who try to not make more work for themselves than necessary, savvy?" Jack enlightened.

"But the Commodore must have once —"

"Ever since that little venture that resulted in the rescue of Elizabeth, Norrington has been…slacking where I'm concerned. Oh, 'e's still after me all right," Jack added as Will was about to interrupt his lecture on the British marine military, "just not so much. What's more, if ever there was a man that needed a girl, that would be him. Maybe I should introduce him to Scarlett; I 'ave an inkling he likes redheads." Jack added charitably. "Always the ones you least suspe —"

"But that doesn't mean there's not a hidden bay or large cave nearby!" Will turned the subject of conversation away from Norrington's lack of female company and back to the topic at hand; his abducted fiancée.

"I've ne'er had to hide from the citizens of Tortuga; just because this Avarice is paranoid —"

"That's one way of putting it. But we're following him right now, ain't we? Then there's the fact that two crews are not enough to man six ships, and not all of the ships are exactly lightning fast, so we'll have to wait offshore 'til we see 'em sail out." Turner Senior stood in the doorway. "I can't find any one of the crewmembers in any of the taverns, brothels, inns, or any other establishments you can think up."

"But we've been here six days, and that's enough time for a _dinghy_ to sail from Tortuga to Port Royal. And vice versa." Jack spoke as though from experience, and a thought suddenly struck Will: how did Jack get to Port Royal without a ship four months ago? He didn't seem the type to stowaway. "You're saying not one?" The captain enquired.

"I think he'll wait a few weeks before giving shore leave; you know, once the whole kidnapping's died down."

"'Tis a cruel man that captains the _Chimera_," Jack said, shaking his head so that the various trinkets jingled. "I'll be worried 'bout the women; you know what happens when a sailor spends too long at sea without 'pleasurable company'?" He gave Will a look that seemed to say 'that goes double for Elizabeth'. He just gave Jack an angry 'I know what you're doing and it's not going to work' glare. Sparrow just shrugged.

"No one would want to incur his wrath," Bill explained, ignoring the silent dispute. "Besides, a hostage is more valuable if he or she's unharmed; you know that, Jack."

"How's that?" asked Will, momentarily intrigued.

Bill shrugged. "Well, if the ransom's unpaid for, they can always be sold for just as much into slavery or — something else. Price will be less if their arm ain't intact or somethin'," he replied nonchalantly.

"That's inhumane! How can either of you be so calm?!"

"Pirates," Bootstrap said. "It's what we do."

"That did not come out right, Bill."

"What are we going to do about Elizabeth?" Will asked dejectedly. He was unbelievably emotional where his bride-to-be was concerned. One word: al-co-hol.

Nevertheless, the small grin instantly slipped off of Jack's face. "We wait."

***

From her vantage point in the rigging, Catriona looked down as Avarice inspected his new recruits. They were all lined up, ranging from small and almost pathetic-looking to tall and dangerous men with big swords and bigger arm muscles. And there was her captain— _Commodore _— inspecting each and every man in turn. What she found strange was how… _white_ they all were. Hardly any of them had ebony skin or slanted black eyes that she'd grown so used to seeing. Not that she was racist, it was just…strange to her.

Securing the white sail firmly in place, she swiftly made her way back down to the deck. Being light and fast, it was common sense that she, along with a few others of similar weight and build, should secure the sails every time they set sail. Leaning against the mast, she watched as Avarice made some enquiries to a boy a few years older than her. She had to give him credit; he managed to hold it together and answer his questions calmly and directly as Avarice observed him through narrow smoky grey eyes, the light of the setting sun casting a reddish glow and making his features all the more menacing.

"'Ello, poppet."

Cat nearly jumped out of her skin; the speaker was so close she could smell his breath. And quite frankly, it _reeked_. Turning, she came face to face with one of the ugliest balding men she'd ever seen, coupled with a tall one-eyed blond. Searching her mind, she located their names. "Pintel, Ragetti," she acknowledged, aware that they were not so discreetly trying to get a look down her shirt. Which was stupid, as the neckline's lowest point was just above her collarbones. "What do _you_ want?"

They seemed to be struck dumb that she was capable of making an enquiry so intelligent; Ragetti looked at his companion with his one good eye. "Jus' to see how ye are," Pintel answered. Ragetti sniggered stupidly.

_That sentence can be interpreted in many ways_, Catriona thought sarcastically. "Fine."

"As we can see." Another snigger. These two really needed to get a life. Which, in piratical terms, meant:

"You have _got_ to get laid." And she turned her back, striding over to the new commodore to watch the proceedings before they could come up with another 'sly' comment. Actually, she thought she was being a tad generous in their brain capacity when she used the word 'sly'.

"Is that _all_ ye can do?" Avarice demanded of a tall, heavily built redhead whose arm muscles alone were larger than her waist in a sneer. "You sure you can't do something _other_ than cracking open skulls, like cooking or sewing?" Personally, Catriona thought he shouldn't be pushing it, but to each his own.

Red looked like he was about to crack open _Avarice's_ skull, but replied, "I can carry twice more than the average man, an'…an' I'm good with the cannons."

"Are you a good shot? 'Ow's your swordsmanship?"

Red seemed to think this question through carefully for a moment. Catriona got the distinct impression he wasn't that bright. But who needed brains when you could snap people in two with your bare hands? "Can't shoot something too far," he said slowly, "and can't partake in any fancy sword duels. Me weapons are me hands." She really, really found that easy to believe, his upper arm was about the size of a tree trunk. She knew Avarice wasn't going to let this one get away. Good for hand-to-hand combat, street brawls, and scaring the hell out of future victims; what captain would pass that up? _Commodore!_ Her mind screamed at her.

"Obviously." Avarice seemed to be thinking along the same lines. It suddenly occurred to her that for a Frenchman, his accent was barely audible, practically nonexistent. But he was definitely French; she should know, having picked up a few choice words in that specific language from him.

By now the brunet in question was issuing orders over who was who on which ship. Unsurprisingly, he'd chosen the _Silver Chimera_ as his flagship; slightly smaller and narrower than average, shallower-drafted with a taller mast and wider sails, she was built more for speed than firepower or loot. It's why they spent and traded their 'earnings' almost as soon as they got them.

On orders by Avarice, Catriona was soon in the _Chimera's_ hold, checking and rechecking the supplies and the plunder they'd 'borrowed' from the citizens of Port Royal. By twilight, all six ships were sailing out of the secluded bay.

~*~*~*~

"Captain! You've got to see this!" The lookout situated in the crow's nest bellowed down.

"Gibbs, take the wheel," Jack commanded his first mate before climbing up the rigging. He peered through the spyglass, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Was that _four_ ships he saw? Or were there more? And if so, were they Avarice's?

Bootstrap was beside him. "Well?" He demanded.

"How am I meant to bloody know, I haven't even _heard_ of this bloke before you came back!" And he handed the spyglass over.

"It's hard to tell, 'specially in this light, but…is that fire?"

"What? Did I hear you right? Why'd it be on fire? Who's dumb enough to set a ship on _fire_?" Jack questioned, almost…_dancing_ about in a comical manner with his hands together as though in prayer underneath his chin.

Bootstrap, with difficulty, suppressed some witticism involving tutus and _en pointes_ or whatever they were called. Didn't make it any less amusing, though. Turning his attention back to the several ships and one flickering light, he focused his gaze as best he can at this distance. As though dazed, Bill slowly lowered the spyglass. "It's started; it's hap'ning again," he said grimly.

"Oh, bloody hell."

**~*~**

**AN:** Cliffies: don't you just love them? *evil laughter* As for the wait…bad news: I had writer's block and had no idea what to put in chapter 4. Good news: not writing chap 4 gave me time to come up with a definite plot. Yes, I'll say it again: a PLOT. Me and my own original plot.

Anonymous Voice of Truth: Actually, all those birthday/early Easter presents had something to do with—

Author (temporarily deaf): My own ORIGINAL plot.

AVoT: But you said it yourself that it kick-started your ima—

A: My own ORIGINAL plot.

AVoT: And your frien—

A: ORIGINAL. Plot. *glare* 'Til next time, buh-bye.

**GinnyPotter4eva:** *blushing* Aw, you're way too kind. Once again, apologies for the delay. And don't worry, Jack's love of rum comes in next chapter: I have an evil little plan to make Jack squirm. *cackles*

**JessieRose:** Wow, TWO reviews from the SAME person? That means more to me than those one-off reviews cos it means someone's reading and liking your work.


	5. Heroics

**A Witch's Daughter **

**_Chapter Five:_**_ Heroics_

"Don't you understand?" The cloaked woman pleaded desperately, her voice hoarse as she yelled over the howling wind and rain beating against the windowpanes of the captain's cabin.

"Madam!" Captain Andrew Foster repeated, his hand running through his grey-flecked auburn hair in exasperation. Rarely, if indeed ever, had he had to deal with women begging to be given passage on his humble merchant ship to the idyllic paradise known as the Caribbean. This, obviously, was one of those rare occasions. "Three months on the open seas is hazardous for any citizen without sailing experience!" _And it's ill luck to bring a woman aboard_, he silently added. Although he couldn't see her face, the female sitting across from him looked ready to snap at any given moment, judging from the white knuckles on his desk. "And the weather is set to be abysmal," he indicated the storm.

"It's Portsmouth," the woman pointed out logically. "In _England_. It rains all the time!"

"Several months on a voyage is dangerous for any man without sailing experience, let alone a woman!" As soon as those four words left his lips, Andrew knew it was a mistake.

The robed lady, judging by her grammar and accent, arose, palms slamming into his desk as she leaned forward. Her voice had increased in volume as she hysterically 'reasoned' with the honest captain. "My one child, my only _family_ is there!" She hollered, this time from her overwhelming emotions rather than a need to be heard. "All I have left on this earth! You _must_ take me there!" As suddenly as she had stood, she slumped back down into her chair, her sudden vigour depleted. The hood had fallen back slightly, enough to reveal only an elegant chin and full red lips that quivered with every word she spoke. "This is the only ship sailing to the West Indies," she said softly, so quietly that Andrew had to strain to hear her voice over the howling wind. "The next one leaves in two and a half months. Surely no man can be so callous?"

His heart went out to her; Andrew honestly pitied the distressed mother, but it simply went against his every moral principle to allow her passage. "I apologise, Madam, but I simply cannot grant you passage," he said as gently as possible.

The woman silently pondered his words, her mind fathomless to Andrew. Coming to a conclusion, she reached up and pulled back her hood, and Captain Foster was staring into hypnotic eyes that were the most vivid shade of green he had ever seen. "Perhaps," she said lowly, "we can come to an agreement…"

For an aristocrat, Elizabeth was really…pleasant. When one looked over her tendency to inflict pain whilst trying to escape, that is. Allanah, sitting with her back against the door so as to prevent it from being forced open by _someone_, watched as Elizabeth told her of some time when she'd fallen off a battlement thanks to the torture device society called a corset with forced interest. All the other times when it had been just her and Elizabeth had passed in awkward silences with murmured comments and, at first, futile escape attempts. Allanah had no idea how an incident involving women's undergarments could possibly interest her, but listening to Miss Swann's 'adventures' was better than the uncomfortable silences they'd usually had.

"…And when I awoke, I found a pirate looking down at me." Yay for her. "It was Jack Sparrow." Allanah perked up. Now that _was_ interesting. Elizabeth grinned at the sudden attentiveness of the pirate girl, looking as gorgeous as ever, even with messy, not-so-perfectly-curled hair and a rumpled golden ball gown. Allanah wondered how she was able to do that; it was just unnatural. And for a witch, that was saying a lot.

"At first I thought he was a good man, vulnerable, even, when Commodore Norrington found him. And a tad insane, judging by his attire and general appearance." That wasn't what she'd been expecting. All the stories of Jack Sparrow, what she'd heard, anyway, gave Allanah the impression of some invincible inhuman criminal. And here was Elizabeth Swann, describing him as 'vulnerable' and 'insane'. _Cat was right._ How did _she_ always do _that_?

Catriona wasn't impressed with the tales of Anne Bonny and Mary Read, Black Bart Roberts, or even the infamous Blackbeard himself: why would she be awed by Jack Sparrow? Yes, she did like to hear stories of piratical legends, living or otherwise, but Catriona never actually believed in them. But then again, most of the world's general public thought she was a homicidal sword-wielding murderer that drank the blood of her victims (not to mention ate their flesh) and sacrificed children to the devil, so she had every right to doubt the anecdotes that were, more often than not, spewed from the mouths of drunkards in taverns.

"What was that?" Allanah said, starting. She'd felt some type of…tugging. Spiritual _wrenching_, to be honest. And she could have sworn she'd heard a scream of pain, distant and far away, but _existent_.

"What?" Ah yes, of course; Elizabeth was far from supernatural. She'd probably thought that Allanah was hearing things.

"It ain't right," Allanah murmured, forgetting her charge. But it wasn't right. A horrible, twisting, nauseous feeling had taken root in her stomach, and she could trace it to her other half. In other words, Catriona had snakes writhing in her abdomen, curling and twisting with…anger? Trust Catriona to not let her fear show, even through a psychic bond. How typical of legends. Something was very wrong, very bad, very…treacherous?

"Miss…Dove?" Allanah registered, at the back of her mind that, for the first time in her entire existence, she'd been addressed politely. "Is everything well?" A rustle of skirts alerted Allanah that the blonde had stood and was moving towards her.

"We're going up on deck," she informed the puzzled highborn woman. "We 'ave to."

No one ever looks at or seeks out the lookout during a mutiny. So Catriona cautiously descended until she was halfway down the mast, narrowing her eyes so as to get a better view in the flickering light of the various torches. She'd already used her vantage point to spy on what was happening on the other ships and saw, with hatred and loathing, that the 'rebellion', as it were, was already well underway, basically over. They'd also started sailing away, probably to some pre-arranged meeting place. Leaving the _Chimera_ alone.

She'd watched as several unbelievably filthy pirates came up from the galley with several rum barrels. They were going to celebrate _now_? She could see that basically all of the remaining original crew had been tied up at the mast. Whatever these men may be, original was not a word she would apply to them. Her right hand went to the pistol in her sash so she was hanging with just her left hand and feet.

She shouldn't fire; she had limited shots, and she was greatly outnumbered. If she'd done anything at all to draw attention to herself, she might as well have slit her own throat. But acting on instinct, she couldn't help but aim the gun. But Cat wasn't going to _fire_; she was smarter than that. She was going to assess the situation, think things through, come up with a well-calculated plan to —

_Bang._

Maybe she wasn't as smart as she gave herself credit for.

The sudden gunshot shattered through the air, effectively silencing the boisterous jeers and taunts hurled at Avarice and the men remaining loyal to him. Elizabeth started as though _she_ had been shot, but remained silent as she and the dark girl whose first name she hadn't asked out of pure fear watched from the stairs. Watched as the blond-dreadlocked man that had been slowly, methodically slicing Captain Avarice's left cheek open froze, stiffening. The dagger clattered onto the wooden deck, closely followed by its owner.

Slowly, like sheep, each and every pirate looked up, including two of the three females on the vessel. In the silence, a Frenchman uttered two simple words that Elizabeth had known ever since the age of eight in a paternal tone of anxiety and apprehension:

"Mon fille…"

_My girl…_ Elizabeth translated, stunned and — dare she say it? — moved. And, well, slightly sickened. _Good Lord, that is just so_ —

And then chaos reigned.

To the casual observer, Catriona must have looked like an ice statue, regarding the swarm whose attention was now focussed on her unemotionally. She hadn't even blinked, so full of courage and restraint was she…

But truthfully, she was paralysed with fear, her numb mind still trying to comprehend exactly what implausibly irrational thing she had just done. But seeing how her brain worked the way it did, in order to process the moment of weakness Catriona had to discover _why_ she shot Short, Blond and Repulsive. She'd just answered her own question.

The moment of silence hung in the warm Caribbean night air, complete stillness prevailing. It couldn't last. Catriona wasn't sure what happened exactly, except there was a sudden raging inferno that had just abruptly intensified; the girl in the rigging was no longer the centre of attention.

The slave girl on deck was, looming over a barrel with a torch in her hand, looking more detached and malevolent than Catriona thought was possible for the warm-hearted girl. And the noblewoman was slipping through the mob unnoticed, by some miracle, towards the mast, presumably to free the remaining _faithful_ pirates.

And then there was the clash of cutlasses and cries of rage and pain deafening her ears, clouding her mind. She'd been forgotten, overlooked. Catriona Woodcraft didn't matter. _Well as if that wasn't the most insulting thing…_ she thought, enraged.

And in a mere thirty or so seconds the fair-coloured girl was deep in the midst of the warring pirates.

_Rum_, Elizabeth mused whilst hitting a scoundrel across the face with the fiery end of one of a torch, _is a very useful, diverse and improvisational weapon. Makes fully-grown men run away in fear when accompanied by flames._ She decided then and there that as soon as she returned to Port Royal, she was going to advise everyone she knew to keep a rum stash and a flame of some kind in their room at all times. _Father would have a fit._ This last she thought whilst smashing a bottle into another criminal's face and threatening to bring the flame ever closer to his less-than-attractive features. Oh, she was going to be grating on Catriona's nerves for however long until she was returned…they'd been having a dispute over Barbossa's men (mainly the idiocy of releasing them and Catriona stating stubbornly that Avarice was a smart man) for however long she'd been on the ship, and Elizabeth had proof that she was in the right.

But God, she was petrified. When she'd been kidnapped by Barbossa, she'd had the safe knowledge that he'd obviously needed her alive or he would have slit her throat on the deck. Here, she had the feeling no cursed Aztec gold would be enough to spare her life this time.

And a sound she absolutely dreaded to hear ever since that sea battle against Barbossa before she was marooned with Jack rang through her ears.

Cannon fire.

Oh God, they were going to die. It was so obvious now. Might as well put on a show. For a moment, Catriona wondered if Tortuga was close enough to swim to. Then she brought her dagger down whilst simultaneously giving the barrel she'd managed to navigate her way towards and was currently looming over a decent kick, slicing it half open, and dropped the torch. The wood and liquid instantly lit up, and she kicked it towards those bastards thick enough to try and mutiny. The barrel left a spectacular, albeit thin trail of fire as it went, gaining speed, as it pretty much _flew_ towards the mutineers slowly, almost leisurely approaching her and were suddenly trying to move back, bravado forgotten as each fought to survive.

And then it made contact, colliding with a man's calf with so much force that she could actually hear the bone break as it pushed past, deeper into the crowd. A second later and his boot caught fire. The bloke's scream became more and more horrific as he tried to put it out; his 'allies' backed away in panic, watching in morbid fascination as he flailed on the ground, eventually pulling another pirate down with him. To the left, another man was trying to stamp out the fire on his foot. Yes, _stamp out_. While all this occurred, the battle continued all around them, most comfortably unaware of the men Cat had set on fire.

Yet still more came towards her, and Catriona instinctively backed away until she felt the wood of the railing against the small of her back. Suddenly several key facts hit her with terrifying clarity: she was outnumbered. She was trapped. She had limited shots. _She_ was one girl, and _they_ were scores of men.

_She was going to die._

And then she heard the cannon fire.

****

**AN:** Cliffie! OK, maybe not that much of one, seeing how you can just guess what's going to happen. Do I really have to say it? Review! (Yes, I have no shame.)

**Redmond****:** Another reviewer! Twice! I feel so loved…yeah, the reason Avarice had those other pirates was because he kinda got all big-headed and wanted to be a commodore, and to do that he'll need more ships, and more ships means more men to man them, so he just got the first guys he saw.


	6. Aboard the Black Pearl

**A Witch's Daughter **

**_Chapter Six:_**_ Aboard the Black Pearl_

It rocked the smaller _Chimera_, and Catriona nearly fell overboard. Gripping tightly onto the railing, she scanned the inky oblivion, her eyes able to just make out the silhouette of a majestic vessel. _Navy?_ Catriona wondered, painfully aware that she'd turned her back on her numerous opponents. Spinning around, she instinctively braced herself for the impact of a fist across her cheek or the stab of a sword, a killing blow…

But the once murderous mob had frozen. Well, the ones from Port Royal had been rendered immobile with shock and rage etching every line of their faces, whilst the several picked up from Tortuga just stared open-mouthed in fear and wonder, something Catriona couldn't fail to notice. All the while, alcohol-based infernos roared unnoticed, forgotten, most of which were sparked by Allanah.

Another cannonball sliced through her thoughts and seemed to signal her into action. Moving forward, she swung her cutlass, deliberately skimming the throats of the bastards and slashing a few. She didn't care if she'd cut deep enough for it to be fatal; they bloody deserved it. As one, all the pirates stepped back, and Catriona pushed forward, her blade executing a complicated dance she'd learnt from a Japanese kenjutsu expert. When Cat had first seen it performed, she thought it was simply a beautiful ritualistic dance of some sorts. However, in a tight space such as the one she was trapped in, it proved to be deadly.

The shouts and yells and sounds of panic and battle that had resumed and the continuous cannon fire from the mysterious ship didn't even register. Right now her mind was completely centred on one goal: to find and ensure that Allanah and Avarice were safe and free. A little bit of fatal vengeance was also on her now one-track mind.

Maybe if she hadn't been so focussed, hadn't had bloodlust pumping through every fibre of her being, she might have noticed that the other vessel had drawn close enough to board, and that was exactly what its crew was doing, among them a trio of handsome, dark-haired men. She might have realized that it was, in fact, a pirate ship, and not one of His Royal Majesty's, and she probably would have noticed that one of the dark men was making a beeline straight for her, attacking pirates threatening both him and herself.

Several scoundrels of the filthier variety swarmed towards her at once, able to disarm her and shove her to the ground. Trying to spring back up, a boot collided hard into her gut, knocking the blonde back down. The sudden collision with the wooden deck seemed to jolt her mind back, momentarily, to the Bright Star; back to Selene's intent green eyes and solemn warning: _Some pirates seem like gentlemen._ These, evidently, were not of the 'some'; they didn't even have the courtesy to _pretend_ to be chivalrous.

_I always thought I'd be more scared when I die._ How could she be so calm? Catriona's blue eyes scrunched tightly from the throbbing in her abdomen and from the anticipated strike that would undoubtedly terminate her existence. A shot rang out; unnaturally clear and she started, expecting at any moment that her skull would suddenly go numb or her blood would soak through her shirt, staining the already filthy material.

Instead a large hand wrapped itself around her wrist, pulling her up, and a male, strangely slurred voice told her, "I believe you've dropped this," whilst presenting her cutlass. Almost as savagely as she attacked those that had threatened her life or simply got in her way, she snatched it out of the man's grasp before twirling around with a roundhouse kick that connected brutally with a brunet's large square jaw. "You're welcome," he muttered darkly before simply grabbing her left wrist and pulling her away.

"But I have ter —" she started in protest, but this mysterious pirate — he had to be a pirate — cut her mid-excuse.

"It can wait," the stranger told her calmly, as if this would settle everything. Did he even _realize_ what was happening around them? _Arrogant bastard_. Exactly why did he believe he could just order her around like that?

Annoyance and irritation coursed through her in equal measure. Who did this bloke think he was, anyway? "Get off!" She snapped in annoyance, twisting her wrist out of his grasp just too easily. Before he'd had another chance to grab her again, Cat had immediately immersed herself amongst the battling crowd, (hopefully) out of his sight, relishing each challenge that dared oppose her, momentarily distracting her from her goal.

"Miss Woodcraft!" Who was that? He sounded familiar…she just couldn't place him, that's all. Squinting in the gloom, although the entire ship was ablaze, she made out familiar dark hair tied back, flashing brown eyes, and an annoyed, hostile expression. Bill? No, wait, if she just imagined him in finer clothing…and as if to confirm her thoughts, who else was there but Elizabeth, clutching his arm almost protectively. He was the Swann's fiancé. _Who must be related Bill,_ she realized, mentally cursing herself for her stupidity. How could she not have seen it before? Lord knows, she was slow.

"Catriona, please listen!" Elizabeth pleaded desperately, arm linked with Will's. Her brown eyes met the pirate's blue in an imploring way, a way the younger woman completely ignored as she receded further into the crowd. So, the ex-hostage was (hypothetically) safe and reunited with the love of her life. Bloody brilliant. But why the hell would she care? Right now only two people were preoccupying her mind; Allanah and Avarice. Not exactly in that specific order. But where _were_ they?

A sudden cannonball hit the mast of the _Chimera_ with so much force it snapped the sturdy wood in half. In shock, the girl threw herself away from the collapsing wooden structure. Avarice was going throttle the other ship's captain if he gets out of this alive; Catriona, on the other hand, would slowly peel the skin off of the captain's body and force him to ingest his own hide before suspending him from the boom of his vessel with his intestines wrapped securely round his neck and take intense satisfaction in watching him suffocate. Hmm, wonder how she'd managed to earn such a vicious reputation?

"Cat!" _That_ was definitely Bill. With one violent thrust through a pirate's gullet, Cat turned, responding to her name. "Board the _Pearl_!" he begged, indicating she come closer with his pistol, his warm brown eyes clearly expressing panic.

She rushed towards him, the cutlass in her hand dripping with the red liquid that helped her earn her name. "Why are you here?" she asked, complying with his demand for her to leave this ship. To an extent; she halted when they'd reached the railing. "Why did you do this?!" She demanded, indicating with her bloodied cutlass the burning ship that, miraculously, had yet to sink.

"Just leave!" Turner ordered sharply, dark eyes flashing dangerously.

"No." Catriona replied calmly, not even raising her voice. That calmness, the cool exterior in a situation of blood and death, that was a quality Bill had always admired and feared from his young protégé. Any other pirate, be it a fully grown man or a teenager such as herself, would have run around screaming in a wild panic, but this girl's complete lack of reaction was more disturbing and unsettling than any inhuman scream of fear and pain. It was easy to see why Navies and law-abiding sailors thought she was a witch, a servant of the Devil, simply by her complete lack of emotion. The legendary Catriona Woodcraft stood before him, and she couldn't be more different from the cheerful, enthusiastic girl that was the lass Bill had grown to lo — care for.

"How long do you think you'll be able to stay here?!" He pointed out logically. "You'll drown if ye don't burn to death!"

Cat smiled humourlessly. "That would be strangely appropriate…" she murmured, but obeyed, sheathing her sword and placing her right foot on the wooden rail and her left on the gangplank that served as a means to get from one ship to another. _But Avarice and Allanah…_ She hesitated.

"Catriona…" Bill growled dangerously, and she felt the barrel of a pistol between her shoulder blades. This mutiny seemed to be showing her hidden sides of people she believed she knew well. "Run!" And Cat sprinted. Her boots connected with the deck of the ship—the _Pearl_, right? — and only then did she realize what Bill had just done.

_He _threatened_ me!_ So it was for her own good, but — he _threatened_ her! She did not take kindly to death threats, be the intentions good or otherwise.

"What the —" This was said in a male voice, followed by a stream of profanities which she decided to take as a compliment. It belonged to a dark-haired youth, only a few years older than herself, who gaped at her like a fish out of water.

"Got a problem, mate?" Catriona demanded threateningly, hand moving to rest on her sheathed weapon. If she'd had more experience with lads nearer her age or indeed any man that had not witness her blooming from a little girl to a young woman, ones that hadn't been trying to imprison or murder her, she might have recognised the signs of schoolboy infatuation. Or in this case, probably lust (like there was really a difference).

Another voice cut through their staring contest (her with suspicion, him with curiosity): "Prepare to set sail! Back to Tortuga for repairs!" She recognised the voice, even if it had lost its slurred tone and took one of command. "Get to it, you mangy cads!" The man that had graciously handed her back her cutlass. She whipped around, looking at the last two men to board the ship; Bill and someone she assumed was the captain.

"You can't just _leave_!" She yelled, striding towards him. "There's still people on the _Chimera_!" Standing in front of him, she crossed her arms, scowling up at him and preventing him from actually moving off the wooden plank.

Apparently, this particular captain wouldn't let a trivial thing such as stubborn teenage girls (which, apparently, were assumed to be walking time-bombs) stop him from boarding his own ship. Stepping down lazily and just to her right so the entire right side of her body was pressed against his, he drawled at her, "Pretty as ye are, I don't think you're in any position to tell me what I can and can't do, love." And then he caught her arm in a vice-like grip and pushed her towards his crew. "Lock her in the brig, gents."

_What?!_ Struggling, Catriona twisted her head to look at Bill, startled to discover him staring back at her, strangely detached. Why wasn't he protesting against her imprisonment? Why was he just allowing her to be dragged away like this? Her resistance vanished, and she allowed herself to be led to the brig. _He knows what he's doing,_ she consoled herself. And if Bill had decided to betray her and leave her down there, she'll just pick the lock and slit his throat when he was sleeping. Violent? Catriona? _Never._

"Captain…" a voice said hesitantly whilst the rest of the _Pearl_'s crew obeyed their captain's orders and set about preparing the ship for her journey.

"Aye, Knight?"

"I don't think there's any room _left_ in the brig, sir." Although she was near the steps leading below deck, Catriona's ears picked up this new information. Why wouldn't there be any room left in the brig? Twisting easily out of her two captors' insultingly loose grasp, she strode back towards the captain — what _was_ his name? — and listened calmly to this conversation.

"None left?" The older man's dark gaze settled on Cat, widening slightly in surprise when he saw her staring expectantly up at him. "Well, why don't we ask Miss Woodcraft herself where she'll like to be held captive?"

"I was wonderin' if it'll be alright to talk to ye in private. Captain?" The blonde added, trying to make it sound like a request instead of an order. She got the impression this man did not enjoy having his authority questioned, and she wouldn't want to get on his bad side whilst he held her life in his hands unless necessary. The captain raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Unless there's a problem with that idea?" she continued, trying very hard to look and sound docile and meek and obedient; what womankind were expected to be like.

Problem? How could a bonny lass in your cabin _possibly_ be a problem? "None I can think of," he told her with a devilish grin. "Mr Knight, escort the girl to me cabin, lad." Knight, the man that had been gawking at her, made to grab her elbow, but froze at a look which clearly stated, 'I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own, thanks', and just walked pass her to the other side of the ship.

Bill had watched these events unfold with a knowing look. Jack thought (technically, decided to believe) he was going to get lucky; well, unless Jack thought a world of pain and 'getting lucky' were the same thing, he was in for an enormous amount disappointment. "I just hope she won't be too rough with you, Jack," Bill said, fully intending Sparrow to catch the second meaning those words suggested. Would she kill him? No, the girl wasn't that stupid. Maim him? A possibility, but Jack wasn't that thick to incur the wrath necessary for the piratess to do such a thing. Give him long-lasting agony, probably around the more…_personal_ parts of Jack's anatomy? An almost certainty. Bill couldn't help sniggering at the thought. He was turning out to be a very loyal friend, wasn't he?

**_(Other place/time)_**

Pirates. Pirates were attacking Andrew Foster's ship. "Stop! We'll surrender!" He screamed in panic, trying to get his crew to drop their clumsy 'weapons'. Emerging on deck, Andrew realized that the flag was not the skull and crossed bones of a pirate ship, but a flag of Spain. This was a Spanish ship. A privateer, perhaps. Which were just the same thing, if not worse.

After much shouting, his crew finally stopped their feeble attempts at battle, dropping their weapons — most of which were cutlery. Andrew was thrust forward, trembling. _Bad luck to bring a woman aboard; an old wives' tale, indeed,_ he thought grimly, looking into the merciless black eyes of the Spanish captain. The sudden coolness of metal on the back of his neck did nothing to calm his nerves.

"What cargo do you carry?" the Spaniard demanded lowly and dangerously in a slightly accented voice. He was dressed in fine clothing, simply embroidered; a man of wealth, no doubt, although the scar running from his left eye to his jaw showed that he'd been involved in a few common brawls, or most likely duels.

"Sugar," Andrew spewed out, fearing for his life. "Tobacco, coffee — things from the plantations."

"Slaves?" Foster shook his head. With a slight nod, the captain said to his crew, "Verifique el barco, ve si él dice la verdad. Cargue todos los bienes en al _María Sangriento_. Si usted encuentra algo de interés, infórmelo a mí."

The next few minutes seemed like an eternity to Andrew, kneeling uncomfortably at the complete mercy of the assumed privateer. A voice called out, "Capitán Lozano, aquí está algo que quizás interese usted," and the female that had caused all his grievances was thrust forwards. Amazing, how she still insisted on wearing that thick colourless cloak of hers in this weather.

"And I wonder," Capitán Lozano drawled, circling the woman standing proudly in front of him, "how a respectable woman such as yourself, or you appear to be, come upon a vessel such as this. What is your name, señora?"

"Captain Lozano, am I correct?" She asked him. At his polite nod, she rushed on, "I have a business proposition I would rather discuss in private with you. I believe I have…I'm not sure what the technical term is, but let's say an _ability_ you would find useful."

"Is that so?" He asked, toying with her. Some of his English-speaking crew threw each other knowing glances. "And exactly what, señora, can you do that I would spare your life for?" He expected her to bribe him, bargain with him, throw at him things he did not want nor need, or objects he could attain by himself. Whatever Santiago was expecting from the mysterious Englishwoman was not what she conveyed:

"I can give you Catriona Woodcraft."

Andrew's head jerked up in shock, eyes widening. _The_ Catriona Woodcraft? There were some murmurings at the mention of the name amongst the Spaniards, whether they could speak the English language or not.

Lozano started, eyes widening, looking very tempted and inclined to agree. He paused, collecting his thoughts and processing the female's words. Then suddenly he grabbed the woman's left wrist, pulling her closer. "_¡No mienta a mí!_" He spat into her face. "Do you honestly believe you can fool me so easily, puta mugrienta?"

"Who said I was fooling you?" She replied, calmly prying his hand off of her throbbing wrist. Rubbing the sore appendage, she asked him casually, "Have you ever seen Woodcraft? Saw her face?"

_Seen_ her? Who else had scarred his face, slicing his skin open swiftly and effortlessly before swinging back onto her ship? He'd crossed blades with her only a few months before, just off of Africa. Santiago had made the mistake of trying to take her alive so as to collect the reward: he should have just slaughtered her and taken her corpse back as proof of his victory. What he intended to do now, once he found that ship.

And he knew the _Chimera_ was there, somewhere in the Caribbean Sea: the news of that humiliating event at the British Port Royal had reached every sailor in the West Indies. It had shamed the British Navy. That was the difference between the English and the Spanish; the English always had to boast about every little achievement, trying to make their nation seem so superior to every other country of the world. That was why they did not hang the crew of the _Black Pearl_ immediately; they wanted to flaunt their prize to everyone. The Spanish, however, need not make such a show of their conquests; their achievements were impressive enough already.

"Yes," he replied, uncertain as to how his seeing her face was relevant.

"Good," the woman acknowledged, pulling off her hood. "So I trust I look familiar, then?"

**_(End)_**

**AN:** There's something wrong with ffn.net; it won't let me insert any symbols or anything, which is why I typed stuff like End and Other Place. Is anyone else having this problem?

****

**Translations:** (This Spanish is from a friend who apparently can speak it (but I think she got it off the internet—she gave me a web address), so if it says something along the lines of 'I'm an ugly loser with no life', blame HER, not me.)

Verifique el barco, ve si él dice la verdad. Cargue todos los bienes en al _María Sangriento_. Si usted encuentra algo de interés, infórmelo a mí. —

Check the ship, see if he's telling the truth. Load all the goods on to the _María Sangriento_. If you find anything of interest, report it to me.

Capitán Lozano, aquí está algo que quizás interese usted. —

Captain Lozano, here is something that might interest you.

Puta mugrienta —

Filthy whore

**AN:** And we introduce the baddies! Two of them! And probably more to come. Actually, I think I'll stick with just my two; they're the more deadly, less comical Dr Evil and Mr Bigglesworth (sp?). I think Jack was more OOC in this chapter than others, but I was in a rush to type this up and so hadn't really bothered to keep him as the pirate captain we all know and love. More effort next time, I promise!

**Reviewer(s):** I can't read my email! I can't even get into the account! It's probably because I hadn't checked it in a month or something, so if I had any reviews, I'm just saying I'll respond when I next update (which, hopefully would be sooner than this). Anyways, now I'm off to try to restore Hotmail.


	7. An Irresistible Offer

**AN:** Hello folks. Remember what I said at the beginning of chapter…four, I think? How I'd apologised repeatedly? Well just put that here, and add the fact that if you wish, I will allow to you to cut off my head as you do the sacred dance of some evil Hawaiian god of…bad updaters. Does anyone else notice I can only write this fic in threes? I hope you don't abandon me just because I don't post as regularly as I wished, but I'll try this time, I promise.

**Random person:** And where, I wonder, have we heard THAT before?

**Author:** Shut up or I'll hit you with a mackerel.

** A Witch's Daughter **

**_Chapter Seven:_**_ An Irresistible Offer_

"There it is!" The sudden yell from the otherwise silent woman caught Lozano off guard. He turned to her to find her leaning over the railing, green eyes wide and burning with anticipation. "I've never seen the ship before, but that must be it."

Indeed, it was the _Silver Chimera_. The small vessel was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the merciless clutches of the ocean, as though through quicksand: sails naught more than charred rags, majestic mast snapped cleanly in half, lying limply, broken, on the stained, scorched deck. The Scourge of the Mediterranean, indeed.

To say that Santiago was pleased would have been the greatest understatement known to mankind. Perhaps he had no need for this unnerving woman; perhaps a brave merchant vessel was able to overpower the mediocre pirate crew, at long last. But oh, how he'd craved to watch Avarice and that whore hang…

But then again, how could he be positive that, at long last, they all were dead? Moving closer, the Spaniard could see movement, and unless the _Chimera_ harboured oversized rats (metaphorical vermin excluded), he was willing to bet that those shadows were human. Where _was_ his spyglass? (Ah yes, thieved by a certain Frenchman…) He'll have to go with the depressing possibility that a particular pair of captain and crewmate's hearts still beat. "She must be on there," he proclaimed confidently, finger unconsciously tracing the scarred cheek (a habit she found irritating).

"Perhaps. It would be unwise to be certain, Captain Lozano." The Englishwoman rested an elbow on the wooden railing, cupping her cheek as she tilted her head pensively. Santiago immediately took note of the cut of the cloth (what better way to discern a person's background than by the clothes they wear?); a fingerless glove of deep moss green covering only her slender thumb disappeared under a cream lace-embroidered sleeve of jade; it hung a good four or five inches beyond her elbow evocative of a medieval court. Or perhaps it was reminiscent of the Renaissance?

His midnight eyes left her palm, travelling to her pale throat, where a lovely silver choker embedded with cream pearls and pale Asian jade rested, taking note of the elaborately-wrought metal. The coal eyes journeyed ever higher, to the pale hair messily piled atop her head; light, flaxen strands cascading down her neck and over her cape-covered shoulders (why was she still wearing that thing?). The only facts he could establish was that she was a woman of means with a fetish for pearls, jade, and all things cream and green.

And speaking of green…her eyes were unsettling. The colour was highly unnatural and slightly unnerving, in his opinion. Just like Woodcraft's, even if it was from another side of the colour spectrum. And she _did_ look like Catriona Woodcraft; it could not be denied. But there were many differences, most subtle, others not so. Like the colouring of the hair and eyes; this woman's was evidently lighter. If the pirate's locks were the rich gold of early sunlight, than this woman's — whom he believed to be _Señora_ Woodcraft — was the paler yellow of the waxing or waning moon. Call him a romantic (and he'll blast your brains out), but that was the only way he could describe the two women.

"Someone's on there!" She spoke quietly, a grim smile slowly unravelling, but so suddenly did she voice her thoughts that the man found himself starting yet again. "A girl, a seventeen-year-old girl is still there…" Now _that_ was unsettling.

"That does not mean that it is _Señorita_ Woodcraft, _Señora_," Santiago reminded. There was another pirate fitting that description, a runaway slave, of all things, and then there was the infamous gentlewoman that had been abducted from Port Royal; a handsome reward for her return had been offered, and he fully intended to claim it.

"Stop calling me that, Captain; I am not a married maid." She whirled around, those fiery orbs meeting his inky black with a stubborn conviction. "It has got to be her; she's the only blood-witch to have ever become a pirate."

_Blood-witch? Sangre-bruja?_ "_¿El perdón?_ I'm sorry?"

She scoffed; a corner of her lip turned up in disdain. "Do not think to insult my intelligence, Santiago. You knew there was something different about her." She arched a pale eyebrow. "How else do you think she was able to earn such a fearsome reputation at that age? And no, she did not use spellcraft to gain it." When he didn't reply, choosing instead to look down upon her in contempt, she audibly sighed before smirking, "She's different. Even the most mundane of people sense that." Turning back, she continued, "And I most certainly am not mundane. I sense a strong presence remains on that ship."

He was harbouring a witch; he had teamed up with an evildoer in order to catch another of her kind. He should have realized it from the beginning. Had he really been so consumed by vengeance that he hadn't stop to think as to why this woman had been so eager to help catch a close relative? Did he really wish to ally himself with _el Diablo_ himself, just to watch the sinful swing?

"You're not having second thoughts, are you, Captain?" The polite mocking of his title made his blood boil. "Do not think I need you nor your crew any longer; I have gained what I wanted, and if I can survive a massacre, I most certainly can survive the oceans."

"What do you want from her?" He was surprised at the defensive tone in his voice; had he taken his sworn enemy's side?

"Something you will not be able to comprehend." She was facing him once again. "Shouldn't you weigh anchor? If you get any closer, you will burn."

"As will you, _bruja_." Santiago growled out. She merely smirked again.

"A common misconception: true witches do not burn." She moved towards him. "I am beyond flame or torch; I _am_ the inferno." Her hand reached out, almost caressing his scar; he'd half expected her touch to sear his face, setting him alight. "I am going to be generous, Lozano," she whispered confidently. "You will get your revenge, I promise that. But I need her alive for the time being, and if you'll grant me that kindness," her voice grew lower as she moved closer, "not only will you obtain vengeance, but I'll help you gain what was taken from you. What you always dream of…"

"That's impossible," he rasped out; she was playing on his emotions, manipulating him, but the fact alone was not enough to stop him from remembering; the images flashed before him, taunting him with their authenticity.

"But I know about them," she continued, growing ever more persuasive as the memories gained more and more actuality; he could smell the sweet scents of the blooming Spanish flowers, the dry grass; he saw the blinding sunlight, heard the joyous laughter of the innocent —

_No._

"You lie, _puta_." It was the second time since their meeting that he'd accused her of falsehood.

"But how could I know? 'Tis not a well-known fact that you had —"

"But can you do it?" That cold smile once again; like a sharpened blade of steel encased in ice, it bit him to his very core. "But of course, _Señor_. All you have to do is find a way of occupying yourself in the Caribbean until she is no longer of use to me. Then I will call for you, and you may have her head." The grin grew. "As soon as she has taken her last breath will I fulfil our agreement. Do you think you are capable of doing that?"

"Yes, witch." Grinning, he turned to his crew, some of which were openly watching their bargaining. "_¡Baje el ancla!_" He turned back to the dishonest witch. "There is a pirate ship I've set my sights on, in my tongue it is known as _la Perla Negra _—"

"The _Black Pearl_?" she spoke sharply. "With Jack Sparrow as captain?"

"_S_, I believe that is his name."

"Do not harm him."

Lord Almighty, _now_ what? "And why not?"

"Because I need him alive, you Spanish imbecile; I need him alongside Catriona." He paused, allowing her time to elaborate. And to his surprise, she did, although she gave away no information of use to him. "I cannot have one without the other; they will be of no use to me if one is alive and the other dead."

The lowering of anchor and rowboats was spent without another word exchanged between the two of them.

-!-!-

_Come on. Come _on_. Work, damn it._

The mental mantra did little to help her calm her temper, and she knew she had to be in a certain state of tranquillity in order for this to work. Allanah had been able to acquire this skill instantaneously; why the hell couldn't she, Catriona, who was _raised_ as a witch, do the same thing?

Her blue eyes flickered back towards the double doors of the cabin, away from the bright flame of the candle. He could be here any minute…

_Allanah, if ever there was a time for you to show off your psychic, skills, now would be it!_

Surprisingly, there was an answer.

_Catriona?_

The proximity and volume of the voice startled her; the candle was knocked to the floor. _Oh, shi —_

Now's not the time for expressing yourself, Cat. The reply was panicked but amused. 

_Where are you?_ Her amethyst eyes again flickered to the door.

_A horrible, wet place known as the brig._

Relief flooded through her. So Allanah was alive and uncomfortable; at least they were on the same ship. The knotted stomach relaxed ever so slightly; there was still something wrong…

_And Avarice?_ she pressed.

_Talking with the captain. Quite a good-looking bloke, actually._ The observation amused her as much as it did exasperate her. The fact was, Catriona was inclined to agree. Ever so slightly so. But now was not the time for girl talk.

_Catriona, you've gotta listen, I don't think we've got much time: something really bad's going on, something _evil_, I swear I'm not exaggerating; I saw this woman, and Cat, you wouldn't believe this, but she looked like —_ The panicking thought was cut off as suddenly as its owner had appeared.

_Allanah? Allanah?_ "Allanah!"

She was gone; vanished. The bright light that was her best friend's presence had evanesced, replaced by a darker, sinister presence. Catriona felt eyes on her: hungry, hateful eyes that seemed to be sizing her up, that wanted her _dead_. Their owner seemed to be constructing a malicious plan: how she knew this, she'd no idea, but that plan seemed to involve…_her_.

And unexpectedly, she was choking: her lungs desperately needed the oxygen. Her hands flew to her throat, but the suffocating phantom didn't seem to be concentrating on her neck alone; her very organs were compressing, her stomach, her lungs, her _heart_…

Her pulse quickened — she couldn't see; all of her senses had been encased in darkness, and her mind was searing with pain, as though it was burning…

_Something was in her head._

And then it was over; the spectre had released her from its murderous grip. That first breath was heaven to her deprived lungs… She was on her hands and knees, hair flowing around her like a veil as she breathed rapidly, trying to slow her racing heart.

_See you in Tortuga…_

She almost didn't hear that voice: neither male nor female, too consumed by hatred to decipher, to match it to a person…

She couldn't just lie here, fearing for her life. And she knew, now that her brain was functioning, that they were sailing towards Tortuga, where she would undoubtedly confront…_it_. She _would not_ spend the voyage in dread of the destination.

Fear was a useless emotion unless it was converted into anger or hatred: Gervaise Avarice had taught her that, and she was not going to disappoint her mentor, even if he was not here to see her do so. So that was exactly what she did, trying to conjure a face to go with the voice. Her mind flashed to Santiago Lozano: the perfect candidate. He was a powerful man, a dangerous man, and she knew that she could harm him, so he was the obvious choice. Pretending that it was him she was to face helped her change the overwhelming emotion into something _useful_; so well in fact, that rage filled her every fibre, begging to be released. Her eyes travelled over the cabin as she slowed her breathing. Only one thought remained in her mind:

She was Catriona Woodcraft, and if she refused to be ruled by law, then she would not be ruled by fear.

-!-

"I've missed you so much," she murmured into his chest. The warm arms encircling her waist were comforting, protecting. This was her favourite place in the whole world, more so than any soft mattress or fancy ball.

Will. Her Will.

"So did I," he replied, placing gentle kisses on her brow. He was acutely aware that Elizabeth was clad in only her slip, and he pushed the thought away.

"You must think it ridiculous that I managed to be abducted twice in less than a year."

"I suppose there's something about you pirates are attracted to." _And men, for that matter…_

"Mr Turner," she gasped, pulling back to look him in the eye, "is that why you're marrying me? To impress your pirate friends?"

The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "But of course. Why, did you think I _love_ you?"

"Well in that case, I might just have to sleep with you."

It had slipped from her lips long before she could even consider thinking the statement through. A very awkward pause hung in the air, causing them both to flush.

"I didn't mean to —" she began, before stopping. Why was she apologising? The fact was it was what she wanted. And she'd said it so bluntly because Will, wonderful though he was, could be rather thick at times. "Well, actually I did mean to."

She could see his brown eyes darkening, burning her with their heat. "And you want it too."

"We should wait," he said, tearing away from her hypnotic gaze. His cheeks were growing warmer; he wouldn't be surprised if his skin was to melt right off his face. "After the wedding: that's how it's done." Her father was right: William Turner seemed to have a very high sense of propriety. His refusal just made her love him more, if that was possible. Ironically, it also made Elizabeth want him all the more. When she was on the _Chimera_, one of the ways she'd stopped herself from dying of boredom was to think of Will. Replaying their memories was nice, but fast became tedious, so she'd entertained herself with thoughts of their wedding day. Which led, whether it was because of her presence on a pirate ship, or simply because her sense of propriety didn't quite compare to Will's, to the wedding night…

But why wait until the wedding? And she knew Will had thought about it (last she checked, he _was_ a man), so she'd nothing to be ashamed of…

As she opened her mouth to argue, a sudden yelp from above caught both of their attention; as one, their heads turned towards the ceiling, directly below Jack's cabin.

"Oh dear…" Elizabeth said, although she couldn't help but smirk slightly.

"What was that, darling?"

She lifted her head to give him an evil grin. "Catriona."

More yelling came from above, most muffled, more of the unpleasant statements sounding clearer, and Elizabeth giggled as she tried to interpret the words sputtered out by the irate pirate captain.

"What the —" It didn't take a genius to figure out what obscenity was to come next.

-!-

Catriona sat contently on the desk, legs crossed as she watched in amusement the captain's face.

"The décor of this place is terrible; just _tasteless_," she smirked, enjoying the change of expression. "It needed a feminine touch to straighten up the place." Her already sore ribs ached further as she continued to withhold her laughter, the dark expression on the man's changing into a mask of disbelief as her words registered.

"Fifteen minutes," he muttered to himself. "_Fifteen_ bloody minutes…"

"Amazing, ain't it?" she continued, Allanah and Avarice forgotten as she concentrated on his dark face.

"That's one way of putting it — What the _hell_ did you do to my bed?!" Jack Sparrow rushed over to the aforementioned furniture, tripping gracelessly on a rum bottle he was certain had not been there before. He gaped in horror at the shredded mattress, the sliced pillows, the ripped cotton sheets. _Fifteen minutes_… "And a lifetime of good memories," he finished the thought aloud, smirking slightly. _And undoubtedly more to come…_ He couldn't resist sliding his gaze over to the pirate, who visibly straightened.

"_I'm_ not a memory!" she snapped indignantly.

"No, you're not, are ye? Well not yet, anyways…"

"Are you trying to distract me?" She retorted.

"Are you trying to anger me?"

"Where's my captain?"

"Where's the weapon?" Jack threw back, face showing a mischievous enjoyment at the banter.

She let out an animalistic growl he couldn't help but pay attention to. "Do you ever answer a question directly?"

"Do you?"

"Stop it!"

"Stop…_what_, exactly?" Her dark eyes narrowed. "You're very mature for your age," he said insincerely. He couldn't help but catalogue this small victory, insignificant as it was.

"Why, thank you kind sir," she hurled back, ignoring his sarcasm. Her hand reached behind her back; a small glimmer of metal caught the light of the dim candles she'd lit as the object landed on what was _once_ one of his favourite places in the world.

Once again, he stared at the diminutive item in incredulity. "You did all this with a _spoon_?"

"Oh, like you've never used crockery as a weapon," she muttered. "Y'know, spoons are underrated; they can be deadly if you shove it —" She hesitated. "How 'bout we don't go into that?" He nodded his agreement, staring at the female in disbelief. _Spoons?_ he mentally repeated, trying to figure out how the hell that worked out. Knives and forks were understandable, but _this_… He was certain people would find cursed monkeys more believable than _this_.

"So, sweetheart, why'd you wanted to see ole Jack in his bedroom? Obvious aside…"

"I _wanted_ to know exactly _where_ a girl named Allanah Dove and a _Capitaine_ Avarice are, _sir_."

Sitting on the bed, he thoughtfully picked up the abandoned dinnerware, before realizing it'll look a lot more intimidating if he was fingering a dagger instead of an instrument used only for the consumption of soups. Or so it was believed… "Isn't that a sin?"

"Huh?"

"Avarice," he repeated, looking at her from under his hat. He was able to hide his disappointment that the only clothing tight on her body were her breeches, belt and boots. Her sash was wrapped around her right hand, and her vest hung off of the back of a chair. That was strange, he hadn't remembered any part of her wounded…but now that he was looking closely, he could see that some of the dark patches on her shirt clung to her skin; a sure sign that the blood was her own, as a few of them seemed to be growing slightly darker.

"Do you have them? Are they locked in the brig?" Was this an interrogation?

"I'll be more concerned about those scrapes on your pretty self if I were you, lass, than a couple of dead crewmates." The sudden look of horror that passed over her features was unmistakably cutting; the slight flush to her cheeks that had appeared during their little discussion evaporated, replaced by a white as pale as what were once his sheets, her eyes grew larger still; her jaw gaped open as she inhaled sharply.

"…Dead?"

"Aye; that's usually what happens when folks choose to remain on a burning ship instead of accepting the generous offer of a dashing rogue pirate captain." He shrugged dismissively. "Fact o' life, love. We all kick it in the end."

"That is impossible."

"Not really, we all have to snuff it sooner or later —"

"They can't be dead; I'll _know_ if they were… I'll know if Allanah had…" She jumped to her feet. "Turn back."

Jack arched an eyebrow. "Are you ordering me?" he asked in a low tone that she would have recognised as dangerous had she been paying full attention.

"I… No, it's… Please, I… I'm _asking_ if…" But then again, Allanah had been suddenly cut off. Had it been her fault? Had she distracted her? Had she murdered her best friend?

Her breathing was quickening; coupled with her pallid skin and widened eyes, Jack would have thought that she was about to…

_Thud._

…faint.

He looked at her crumpled form in pity — he doubted the floor had suddenly softened when she'd hit it — and approached her unconscious form. He half expected it to be a trick; that she would jump up any minute and whip out — what, a teaspoon? — and threaten him into telling her where her crewmates are.

He honestly did not know. And a part of him knew it was cruel to tell her they were dead, when he had no idea for certain. But another part told him that it was probably the truth, but because of that she'll probably appreciate him one day, and hadn't she redecorated his room without permission? He picked her up easily and unceremoniously dropped her on the bed. It wasn't as if she'd feel anything, and there was no point in pretending to be gentle and caring if no one was there to witness such an act. He did, however, pause to unwind the long sash from her palm.

The material was already red, but as he grew closer to the skin, he could see the colour darkening, growing deeper. What he'd finally discovered was a deep gash across the small palm, contrasting greatly with the white skin around it. Jack was guessing she'd gained it when she'd tried to defend herself from the swipe of a sword, and took a moment to marvel at two things:

Her bravery at her willingness to experience pain whilst defending herself, and;  
Her idiocy at getting such a deep cut on her hand.

The smell of a certain alcoholic beverage met his nostrils; a glance at the desk confirmed his worst suspicions.

She'd taken some of his rum. The nerve of her. Making a face of annoyance, he rewound the cloth, tying it tightly. He supposed that between tearing out his drawers, breaking open his cabinet, turning over his chairs and massacring his bed, the pirate had found time to check her wounds. All over her body. He was quite peeved that she hadn't allowed him that honour.

Swinging his legs over the bed, he tugged at his right boot. Hard. The thing just would not budge; maybe it had shrunk? Growling, he gave the shoe one final pull, and with a yelp of surprise and fell backwards, head resting on a warm abdomen. Jack allowed himself the small pleasure of feeling the warmth of a female body emanating through the thin cloth (even if it was skull to stomach) before attempting the impossible with his left boot. (He must have hopped around the cabin for a good five minutes or so before it finally gave.) For what was probably the first (and last) time in his life, Jack was glad that the female in his bed was dead to the world.

After the footwear, everything became much easier; the blade clattered upon the wooden planking, the pistols slipped under the remains of his pillow (how much feathers do they use?), and the belt and sash joined the cutlass.

He'd had no idea how tired he was. How long had it been since his last battle at sea? Barbossa hadn't counted, seeing as all he'd done was run around a couple of decks after a monkey he was the namesake of. And the banter with the teenager, however short it was, had amused him: he hadn't met a girl with looks like that and a stubborn streak in a long time (unless you counted Elizabeth and Anamaria; but Jack wasn't sure if the latter was female and if the former hadn't had a mental illness or two, so he didn't).

Before sleep overtook him, he slipped the soupspoon alongside his two pistols. Just in case.

**--!--**

**AN:** Well, hope this makes up for the long wait. Personally, I think that's my best yet, but I'll leave that up to you to judge. If anyone was curious, I've spent most of this school year gloating about how I spent my summer in Thailand, and now all my friends have turned away from me in my gloating-ness, so now I'll turn to you. Actually, I won't, because I'm getting sick of hearing myself, but I just had to get out that I spent most of my summer days lying on a beach drinking…non-alcoholic fresh coconut juice. (That completely goes against pirates, doesn't it?)

**Readers:** Thank you for reading, and congratulations for staying with me this long (your patience is limitless). As you may have noticed, I've just decided to cut the research and, ahem, 'accuracy' of this story, simply because it'll help move the plot along. Come back sometime soon; somewhere next month I might have torn myself away from my homewor—SOCIAL LIFE to write. And I hope people appreciate my attempt at humour, unnatural though it may be. Does anyone like my pen name (whatever it's called) change? (Yes, that's just me baiting to you to press that button.)


	8. The Plot Kicks In

**AN:** Told you I was going to update sooner didn't I? Evidently, no one decided to sacrifice me to the Hawaiian god of bad updaters, or something, and for that I am glad. Or maybe I just can't be tracked down…

**A Witch's Daughter **

**_Chapter Eight:_**_ The Plot Kicks The Writer Up The — In_

The frozen bars pressed mercilessly into her back, making her shiver. The supposed heat of the Caribbean air could not reach her, and thus was less than able to warm her frozen body, much as she wished for it. The pirate wrapped her arms tighter about herself, eyes scanning the stained wall before her.

_Catriona, I saw _you. Her friend did not reply, like she hadn't given any indication of being alive since that sudden apparition had discontinued the mental conversation between them.

_See you in Tortuga…_ Allanah shivered yet again; had that threat been intended for her? Her arms, if possible, tightened further, failing to repress her form's insistent shivering as she tried still to divert her thoughts from the events that had unfolded only a few hours before…

-!-!-

That mysterious ship that had attacked the _Silver Chimera_ had sailed across the waves faster than Allanah could have comprehended, than she would have believed possible. And not long afterwards, an all-too-familiar vessel had risen from out of the darkness. But since when had the _María Sangriento_ possessed the ability to travel at such a speed? Since when had _anything_ been able to move as the craft and its crew had? The longboats seemed to have flown over the waves, appearing besides the ship as though by magic.

The crewmen were exactly like their boats; blurred images, grabbing and hurling her into the rowboat in a blink; relieving her of her weapons, binding her hands tightly. It seemed as though only twenty seconds (and she had counted) had passed before she was pulled roughly onto the wooden deck and ushered into the brig, along with other men she had not realized had accompanied her.

When the lock had snapped shut, the air seemed to relax, and suddenly she knew. These men had moved so swiftly because of unnatural means. But now…now that the spell was over, everything seemed to return to its proper speed.

Light footsteps sounded on the stairs; a graceful figure descended, green skirts flowing elegantly from the hips. Her heart had frozen; her breath had caught.

_Catriona had betrayed them._ Then she saw the eyes.

Like Catriona's, these eyes, too, were an unnatural colour. But instead of the deep blue that hovered between sapphire and amethyst, what she saw were irises a green so pale and intense it was like staring into emerald fire. Those eyes widened before narrowing in anger, and before she knew it, Allanah was pressed against the bars unwillingly whilst the stranger placed slim fingers under her chin, looking down at her. She, like her doppelganger, was unerringly beautiful, only more so; her lips seemed to naturally be crimson, as though she'd just sipped fine French wine a moment before, and they were pressed into a line as she continued her scrutiny.

They suddenly parted in a pleasant smile that sent a shiver down her spine. "But of course," she spoke, looking deep into her eyes, "there are more…" The soft touch was wrong; how could a woman so malevolent appear so gentle? She seemed to be a pleasant, kind female; there was nothing about her aura that was malicious or spiteful, and yet Allanah knew something was hidden beneath the surface…

_It's like the ocean,_ she realized suddenly. _Shark-infested waters._ There seemed to be only peace and calm, but you know that something perilous lurked beneath. _And if you look closely, you can see the fins._

"Captain Lozano," she'd said, and a man emerged from the shadows. A man whose dark mane hung loosely around his shoulders stepped closer, black eyes looking at her.

"You must be Allanah Dove," he said pleasantly, but beneath the accent hung a menace. "Yes, your dear Catriona told me quite a bit about you before she was able to pick the lock of her precious captain's chains." His hand moved to the scar that spoiled his otherwise fetching face. "Has she decided to go down with that piece of rotting driftwood?"

_No._ Allanah recalled all too clearly screaming her companion's name as she'd choked on the toxic fumes. And then Gervaise had wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her from the raging inferno.

"Ah, but that's what you'd like to hear, isn't it, Lozano?" The Frenchman's voice materialized behind her. "I know you've been after her since the last little run-in."

"Ah, _Monsieur_ Avarice," the Spaniard drawled, sounding less than enthused. "What a pleasure…"

"The pleasure is all mine, _Capitaine_ Lozano," he replied, a sneer colouring his voice.

"_Señor_ Lozano," the angelic demon said softly, "perhaps you can discover the whereabouts of Miss Woodcraft whilst I reassure her friend?"

"With great pleasure, _Señorita_." Allanah was thrown back against the wall as Lozano unlocked the door, unable to lift a finger, watching helplessly the Spaniard grabbing the Frenchman's collar and pulling him out. A pistol appeared against the grey-eyed man's throat as the bounty hunter smiled cruelly. "Perhaps we should move this along, my friend? My patience is very limited…" The keys were tossed to this double-faced impostor, who offered her a pale hand as she stepped within the prison. The prisoners in the opposite cell continued to stare at the two women, but witnesses were the last of her worries.

She'd knocked the proffered hand aside, but then those cool fingers were once again gripping her face. "Don't be so stubborn, you stupid girl," she hissed, full lips curled into a snarl. "We both know that's not going to help either of you."

"Either of us?"

"Why, you and Catriona, of course." The expensive skirts rustled as she knelt before her. "If you know where she is, Allanah, then you'd best tell me."

"And why should I trust you?" She snapped back. The woman's eyes widened.

"Surely you don't believe I'll harm my own daughter?!"

_Her own daughter…?_ She didn't believe that for a moment. "Look, bitch, if I knew where Catriona was I would _not_ be telling you, mainly because I'll be right there with her!"

Something shifted in those green eyes, once so warm, so gentle, so innocent, turning to stone, deprived of all emotion. Again, that was an ability that Catriona also possessed, and the realization turned her stomach to lead, cutting off her oxygen as, for the longest second, she struggled for breath. "How touching…" she sneered, façade immediately dropping. She released Allanah from her grip, turning on her heel and slamming the door shut. As the key turned, she looked down at her once again. "Don't think, even for an instance, Allanah, that Catriona would choose you over me." Her shoes carried her up the short staircase. "Not for a moment."

As soon as she'd disappeared, Allanah had sought out her friend. What a mistake that proved to be.

-!-!-

_Allanah, I could not be more wrong about you; you are a vry talented witch after all. I could not be more thankful to you._ The barbed compliment mocked her, ringing in her ears as that maliciously melodious voice served to remind her of her betrayal. Fittingly, Allanah could hear the crash of thunder from the heavens above. It seemed the very skies reviled her for her treachery.

_Well done, Allanah._ She thought bitterly, bile rising in her throat as she was forced to lie on her front by the sudden crash of the incensed waves. It seemed as though the very gods of the ocean themselves despised her and her idiocy. _You've just handed your best friend over to a monster._

But it seemed as though Neptune and his subjects were not through with their torment. Another of the sea's furious swells jerked her towards the bars, smashing her head excruciatingly against the unyielding pitiless metal. Words and images flashed before her eye: flickering lanterns, raucous laughter, meaningless brawls, preying females, sly thieving pickpockets…

Tortuga.

It was her only option. And, as her mind finally gave in to the merciful darkness of nothingness, it had better work out better than last time.

-!-

"For the love of God, Sparrow!" he yelled over the storm's cries. "Get out here!" The rain flew mercilessly into his eyes as he pounded on the locked door. To his relief, it finally swung open.

But not upon the sight he wished to see. Instead of the arrogant pirate captain Jack Sparrow, what instead greeted his eyes was the tousled-haired, bright-eyed figure of Catriona hastily buttoning up what he recognised to be one of the captain's shirts. "What's goin' on?" she demanded. (He couldn't fail to notice how irritated she sounded.) The roaring wind evidently cut through the flimsy material of the shirt, making her visibly shiver.

"A bloody storm!" He shouted over the unceasing howling of the wind. "We need all the help we can get, and we need the captain —"

"Awake?" she inquired.

"That would help!"

He didn't like the wicked grin that suddenly spread upon her lips. He wasn't fond of the way her face lit with mischief. "Aye, gladly." The door was shut all too quickly for his liking.

-!-!-

"Bloody evil wench," Jack muttered darkly as he directed the _Pearl_ three points west. He turned his gaze up to the mainsail the better to direct his glare at the object of his cursing. "She better not lose me coat…" A violent wave crashed into the hull of the already damaged ship, creeping upon the deck and all the poor souls manning it. A small part of him felt a twinge of twisted satisfaction as he saw the fair-haired figure jerk with the unanticipated movement.

"Oy, Jack!"

Without turning, he addressed the 'old friend' (although he doubted very much the man in question was to retain that status much longer if he continued at the rate he was going) that was the cause of all this annoyance. "Aye, Bill?"

"Don't you think she should come down now?!"

"Who?" he innocently inquired as his grip tightened on the smooth wheel. _A few more minutes, Pearl, just hang in there a few more…_

"You know bloody hell who I mean!" Why did all the Turners get so sensitive and possessive when it came to the welfare flaxen-haired females?

Lack of sleep made Captain Jack Sparrow very irritable without the stress of spoon-butchered cabins to contend with (although frankly, he had very little experience with the latter). "William," he chastised, "weren't it ye yourself that said we needed every hand available?"

"Jack, I really doubt that she can 'old on much longer, with the fight from earlier an' —"

"So where is this fierce pirate lass I've heard tell so much of since your return from the grave, eh Bill?" It was cruel, but Jack wasn't in a particularly kind mood, to put it delicately.

But what Bill was saying was true. Even from this distance, Jack could see that she seemed to favour one hand more than the other, could see that one leg was stronger whilst the other evidently ached. But he had never been a very compassionate person towards complete strangers, and saw no reason to start now.

Especially temperamental, bed-shredding, cabin-wrecking ones.

But it seemed that Catriona had plenty of labour for the night. She started climbing down, progress slow as she moved in obvious agony. And a very helpful crewmember had abandoned hauling the ropes in order to help the weakened pirate, supporting her in a gentlemanly manner as he guided her towards the stairs. He saw her pause, turning to look back up at the drizzling sky, head turned up towards the cleansing liquid. And then she had vanished, her assistant remaining loyally by her side as he guided her to shelter, and the few remaining minutes of the manning of the _Pearl_ passed by with little incident (hurricanes and tides hell-bent on drowning the _Pearl_ aside).

After the tight knots of the ropes and the sails were to his satisfaction, Jack gratefully returned to his cabin, content to spend the few hours remaining until dawn in a deep slumber away from the harsh punishments of nature.

-!-

"Good Lord…" she gasped as she saw the helpless figure all but fall down the steps. Rushing over to the younger girl, Elizabeth gripped tightly onto the other arm. "What on earth did Jack do to the poor girl?" she demanded of the dark-haired man accompanying her.

He snorted, shaking the water droplets from his cropped hair. "What the lass did to 'erself be the more appropriate question, Miss," he replied evenly. His hazel eyes looked down at the half-conscious female. "She all but fainted down the rigging."

"…Fainted?"

"Well, the wench did 'ave quite a hard night, losing her ship and crew and then forced to help out in a storm such as this…" he shook his head. "She's probably just tired, to be perfectly honest, Milady."

"Yes, you're probably right," the gentlewoman agreed, steering the awakening figure towards the cabin occupied by Will and herself. "All she needs is plenty of rest, and —"

"Wait," the figure protested. Catriona lifted her head with all the strength she could muster. "Do you have medicines…herbs?" She seemed to cling onto the dark-haired man in desperation.

"We 'ave a very small cabin full o' bandages and the like. It's our version of a hospital," the brunet replied, looking down at her. "But it's quite unpleasant; only thing you can rest on be an old table used for stitching up wounds, dismembering legs, and the like; smells of blood and whatever concoctions Cotton can come up with. Really, I personally wouldn't…"

"Take me to it." For the smallest of instances, Catriona had once again taken control. "Take me there and leave me be. 'S like ye said; I need ter rest on me own."

"Are you sure? I use a spare cabin no one ever checks as me room instead of sleeping with the rest of the crew; you're welcome to kip there," he offered. She shook her dripping head.

"The…hospital, ye called it?" she insisted. The man caught Elizabeth's eye; she merely shrugged.

"Let her go to it," was all she said. "At least then, if there's any fatal injuries she'll be cared for." Against his better judgement, the pirate nodded.

-!-!-

"Where is she?" Santiago demanded of the aggravating Frenchman.

"Pardon?" he replied innocently. The Spaniard slammed both his hands upon the desk.

"Do not test my patience, Avarice. Where _is_ she?"

"Do you really expect me to be able to provide you with a legitimate answer to that?" Gervaise inquired good-naturedly.

Santiago's hands curled up into fists. "Very well," he replied in an almost even tone. "What happened to your ship?"

"Well, there we were, sailing to our 'eart's content, minding everybody's business, when some ship pulled up alongside our own and starts blasting it's little cannons at us," he replied quite truthfully.

"And the other ships you've commandeered?" he prodded, glad that at long last, he was finally making some progress.

"Well, they sailed right on ahead without us, and that's how I lost my newly-acquired fleet." And so, the tale drew to its close, leaving Lozano with no useful information whatsoever.

"And Woodcraft, why was she not on the ship?" When the grey-eyed man did not reply, he continued, "Was she on another of the ships?"

"Anything's possible," he remarked dryly.

"What is the name of the ship that attacked you?" he asked, resuming his interrogation.

"It escapes me." But Avarice was looking at the bounty hunter no longer, instead focusing on the snow maiden that had just entered the cabin.

"Perhaps, Mr Lozano, I should talk with this captain." A pause. "Alone."

"Of course, Madam, of course." He exited the cabin, but the annoying captain wasn't the focus of Avarice's attention.

"You do realize that by refusing to answer our questioning does not do Catriona any good?" she asked.

"Well, personally I think it better than to hand her over to certain death," he replied nonchalantly.

"I have employed Captain Lozano; he is now working for me," she informed him.

"Good for you."

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence before the woman spoke again. "You were mutinied against, were you not?"

"Where did you get that idea from?" he asked, tone casual, but his suspicion grew.

"Well, it was an easy guess." She moved around the desk, so that she was standing opposite him. "There is no point withholding information of any kind, Avarice, when your very life is in danger."

"It would seem like that to the casual observer," he noted.

"You do not know her whereabouts; I understand that. However, _I_ do."

"What, floating somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean Sea?"

"_If_ you help me capture her, Avarice," she continued, "the reward will be most generous." When he did not reply, she fished into one of the drawers, drawing out a purse. "You can see I am a woman of some stature," she said. "You can guess I have access to wealth. Help me find her, and I shall give you enough gold to live a king's life a hundred times over."

"And _that_, of course, is by no means exaggerating."

"Captain," she said lowly. "I know for a fact that you live up to your namesake. And to be honest, you will not be betraying Catriona in any way."

"Is that so?" he inquired doubtfully, although his eyes gazed longingly at the purse.

"Catriona is my daughter. I have employed Lozano to find her for me so that I can be reunited with her, and have convinced him that she will die at his hand once I have used her for my own gain. But alas, that is not the case."

"Oh, really?" he asked doubtfully. Because if that were the case, why would she use wording such as 'capture'?

"Truly." The coins clinked as she slid the bribe over. "You're a pirate, Avarice. Your loyalties can be bought."

"Well," he smiled cruelly, "at this very moment, that does seem to be the case…"

**-!-**

**Readers:** Because I'm too lazy to reply to each and every reviewer individually, and because there are some people who read and DON'T review (or perhaps that's wishful thinking on my part), no matter how much I poke at the matter, I have decided to address everybody as a whole. So thanks for reading, you should be awarded a medal for getting this far, and if you DO review, I will very happily send out to each and every one that do HAPPY THOUGHTS, because in my twisted mind, that is somehow a reward. Let's hope I'm able to get the next two chapters up with less than three months between them, eh? Good luck to me…


	9. The Morning After

**AN:** I'm back from the dead! (gets dragged off to sacrifice) Dude, what gives!

**Readers:** It was your idea…

**(Blood-Red White) Rose:** It is true… Hello! (waves) To anyone who thinks this is selfish self-promotion, it most certainly is NOT! **About the fact that the authoress of this particular fic does not seem to update that often**, I personally have come up with a cunning plan (evil grin) to FORCE this authoress to do so, partly 'cause I like this fic, partly 'cause it actually has readers—I have photo-edited pictures of this particular authoress which I'm sure she will not appreciate being published… So, yeah… Anyway, email me if you're irritated about her updating skills. I'll post one of those pictures and link it to my profile. Email: ironicangeldiane hotmail. co. uk In the mean time, I have persuaded her to create a rollover image that allows you to pitchfork her. There should be a link to it soon.

**A Witch's Daughter**

**_Chapter Nine:_**_ The Morning After_

Elizabeth turned away in disgust as Catriona retched yet again into the wooden bucket. "Oh, God…" she muttered in distaste.

The blonde turned her face to the governor's daughter in a blue-eyed glare. "Well let's see how charmingly _you_ throw up your guts!" she snarled weakly. She may have said more, had she not been overcome by a coughing/choking fit and had to turn away. Staring at the wall, she could hear coughing and gasping for air as the girl shifted on the scrubbed wooden surface more likely than not used for amputation and other unpleasant…surgeries.

She heard shuffling, and the voice of the nameless male pirate ask in concern, "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"_Yes_!" the blonde hissed vehemently. Elizabeth turned her head to see the teenager shifting on the table so that she was face-down in what appeared to be an extremely uncomfortable position. From beneath that curtain of yellow hair came the words, "God, I hate you both…" She lifted her head to meet Elizabeth's brown eyes in a part-confused, part-annoyed stare. "Why are you here?" she inquired. Elizabeth felt her eyes narrow against her better judgement. The tone wasn't annoyed, not even impolite, though she suspected that was simply because the pirate was unable to muster the strength required to make it so.

But she did raise a good question though; why _was_ she here? Why was she, a respected daughter of a governor, on a pirate ship, in a cramped cabin containing the same buccaneer that had knocked her unconscious before proceeding to bind her and hold her captive for near a fortnight? Did she feel pity for her? Had she grown attached to her abductor, even going so far as to feel a strange companionship, suspicious and uneasy thought it was, but without a doubt a companionship nonetheless, growing between them?

God, _no_.

The blonde was arrogant and antisocial, untrusting and ungrateful…

And there was also something… _strange_ about her. She couldn't say why, couldn't even pinpoint it to a specific trait, but nevertheless she made Elizabeth uneasy. The most perplexing thing was, this insistent suspicion of hers had suddenly materialized the moment the wench in question had set foot upon the _Pearl_.

Well… not _exactly_ when Woodcraft had set foot upon the ebony vessel… More when she had emerged from Jack's cabin to help man the ship during the still-raging storm. Now, Elizabeth didn't know exactly what had happened inside that room — she wasn't certain if she _wanted_ to know, to be truthful — that had caused the change in the girl, but there undoubtedly must be _something_…

…Or maybe being close to Will had relaxed her enough to notice that there was something _off_ about that girl.

But if that was indeed the case…why was she here with the two pirates instead of in her lover's arms, where she belonged? The memory of what she'd said — Lord knows what possessed her to say such a brazen thing, and in such a _desperate_ way — returned swiftly to her, burning as brightly as her cheeks felt. _Why would she say such a thing?_ What was it about that very moment in his arms, holding each over with so much innocent love, that had caused that rash comment to take leave of her mouth in such a tactless, meaningless way? She didn't even want…_that_.

…Did she?

_No!_ She shook her head furiously. Returning back to reality, she realized that the two pirates seemed to be conversing in low tones, oblivious to her presence. Muttering something about returning to hers and Will's cabin to gain some much-needed rest, she exited the cabin.

Closing the door behind her, she leant her forehead against the smooth wood, closing her eyes as she tried to decipher the myriad that her thoughts had become. Images surged before her mind's eye; visions of her past, her future, and her present.

And then, without warning, she slid down the length of the door and wept.

The morning found Captain Sparrow lying sprawled across his bed with an arm flung haphazardly across his eyes. He shifted, twitching his nose as consciousness slowly and easily returned to him. But Jack didn't want to get up…not just yet. Turning to lie on his front to better block out the sun, he was jerked out of his half-wakened mindset when he registered a sudden stinging upon his left palm. Shifting the throbbing appendage only caused more hurt, and he had no choice but to sit up and address the problem directly.

His brown eyes widened in surprise when he saw blood steadily seeping from a gash. He quickly discovered the implement of the injury; a dagger was lying on the bed beside him… A dagger that was not his own.

"That bloody whore!"

When Jack had reached the spare cabin used for stashing bandages and other medical supplies, he was surprised to spot a sleeping Elizabeth curled against it like a fluffy woodland creature he cared not for. Looking closer, he thought he saw the unmistakable tracks of tears, but decided to store it within his mind for later investigation. His first instinct was to poke her awake and throw some patronizing witticism…

A difficult feat when he realized she might not wish for blood to spoil her lovely gown. So he just settled for stepping over her in an unperturbed manner and hurriedly forcing the door open one-handed, his other cradled to his chest. What he saw inside might have surprised him, had he not been searching desperately for a roll of cleaner cloth with which to bind the throbbing wound than the neglected sash he was using. "Lord, you'd think there were no beds on this ship!" he snapped, his good hand reaching out to grab the shoulder of the pirate asleep on the chair. "'Ey, Knight!" he snapped irritably.

The younger man sprang to life immediately, hazel eyes snapping open blearily before focusing on his superior, darting from the exasperated face of his captain to the bloodied cream cloth concealing his left hand. "Cap'n Sparrow!" He clambered to his feet, using the occupied table to steady himself. Jack didn't bother watching to see his crewman's lacking capacity concerning standing on his own two feet, already ransacking the cupboard beneath the table of dressings and some cleansing lotions.

Cutting through the sudden stammering of the boy, Jack straightened up and ordered him sharply to "kindly remove Miss Swann before she is bloody trampled to death." He'd quickly complied, with one last look at the slumbering figure before slipping out and closing the door hastily. The sound of the door slamming jolted the girl awake; her fingers curled as her eyes tightened and she shifted.

Irritated — he was in a very cantankerous mood this morning — by her firm grip on unconsciousness, he leaned down to her ear and all but yelled at her to return to the living.

She'd shot up, her loose hair brutally whipping his face. The low curse he'd muttered caused her to twist her head towards him suddenly, accidentally (or not) slapping his face again. Her blue eyes regarded him warily but sleepily, but Jack was already hunting in the cupboard beneath the table she'd situated for the clean rags his crew called bandages and that sickening liquid used for cleaning wounds such as these.

"What is your problem?" she hissed down at him.

"Oh, I grievously apologise for cutting short your nap; should I 'ave cut me hand open at a later, more convenient time?" She was silent, staring down at him. Locating the required components, he straightened, setting down the near-empty flask beside her and carefully unwinding the bloodied sash from his hand.

She merely watched. "What stupid action required you to hack your hand off?" she inquired, her voice for the moment sounding surprisingly cultured.

"You have the strangest tendency of leaving your men _unusual_ souvenirs of the night before, don't you?" he joked conversationally, still unwrapping the long cotton cloth and therefore missing the tightening of her jaw. "I woke up ter find your dagger impaling my hand." He looked up at her with a smug grin. "Let me tell you, love, that's one way of ensuring a man doesn't forget ye."

"Well I didn't do — I'd never stabbed you!" she cried out indignantly, and he smirked; he had the strangest feeling that was not what she had intended to say. _Another unimportant triumph; all I'd wanted was a conquest…_ "Well, not yet…"

"Don't sound so bloody pleased," he muttered darkly, attempting to remove the stopper from the bottle one-handed. There were a few seconds of Catriona watching in amusement before (very charitably, one might argue) unexpectedly grabbing Jack's left wrist and prising the container out of his undamaged hand. She pulled out the cork with ease, dropping the useless thing on the table and, grabbing a folded strip of linen, sloshed a generous amount onto the binding. Clutching his left wrist yet again, she pressed the makeshift compress firmly — and none too gently — into his palm before proceeding to wrap up the offended appendage. "Interesting…" he murmured.

She looked up from her work. "What is?"

"Well," Jack started in a bored tone, "first you damaged my _Pearl_, renovated my cabin — thank ye kindly, by the way, I was thinking a drastic change may be in order — exchange harsh words, faint, try to throw me out the window, (he valiantly ignored her snicker) run like hell into another man's arms, and now, here we be, with you nursin' me hand in this sweet, caring way of yers," he concluded with a rakish grin.

Her expression had changed throughout his dialogue until she simply settled for glaring at him, though the corners of her lips were twitching upwards ever so slightly. "Point being…?"

"My point _being_, love," Jack enunciated in a rather patronizing manner, "is that I won't be forgetting you anytime soon."

Her eyes had narrowed in — well, frankly, he didn't know what he did that caused her to be looking at him in that particular manner — he had behaved like a perfect gentleman (or as close as he was capable to being) towards her in the short time he'd known her, so she _really_ had no legitimate reason with which to justify her looking at him in that particular manner. Surely she couldn't have heard of his roguish reputation already…? And yet there she was, looking at him in that unrecognised way that made him raise his proverbial guard.

"What is there to remember?" she started disdainfully. "We haven't 'ad _one_ civil conversation since we've met — we haven't even been in the same room for more than five minutes —"

"Yet we have shared a bed," Jack said in an (not entirely completely) innocent manner, unable to resist such a blatant jibe.

Her eyes narrowed; he felt her fingers dig involuntarily into his wrist, and she sighed in the manner one might when confronted with an annoying, incorrigible child — Not liking this particular train of thought, Jack immediately froze the growing notion in its tracks in time to come back to reality. He saw two violet eyes boring into his and immediately began searching them for any sign of an emotion preceding the inevitable slap; anger, annoyance, even frustration all served as likely candidates —

She unexpectedly threw his form away from hers with enough force to cause him to stumble backwards into the forgotten chair before suddenly jumping to her feet, wincing in pain as she put weight on her injured leg, looking down at him. "There is nothing about me worth remembering…for you," she said brusquely before immediately turning and exiting.

Jack stared after her retreating form. This secretive lass had piqued his curiosity; if he'd ever felt…_intrigued_ by her before this encounter. "Not quite as true as you'd like to think, Woodcraft," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Not quite as true as you'd think."

It was only then that he realized — and with some cursing of his lack of observational skills — that she had once again taken his coat.

"Ah, there's nothing like the smell of alcohol, whores, fires and livestock that indicates a pirate haven," Avarice stated conversationally, looking out towards the rocky island. They were anchored near the small part of Tortuga that was at all law-abiding, governable and respectable.

"Indeed," Santiago murmured, not paying his rival any mind, still fixed on one thing: _How could she have known? How could she have known about _them

The Frenchman was looking at his captor in cool detachment. "Tell me again what the infallible plan to capture my…"he hesitated before continuing, "crewmember is?"

"Haven't you been listening to that tramp?" he snapped.

"Now is that any way to speak of a lady?"

Lozano sighed. "We let the slave girl of yours go, give her means of transportation to the…_unruly_ part of this isle, and wait for her to act."

"And you're sure Allanah would do whatever it is you wish for her to achieve?" he pressed.

"I'm not sure _what_ she's meant to do!" he retorted. "I'm simply following my instructions as should you!"

The pirate captain just looked at him, grey eyes clouded and unfathomable, before muttering something in his native tongue. "She has you at her beck and call, Lozano," he calmly informed the man. "I'd never pinned you as the type of man who would do anything to keep a whore warming his bed."

"Oh, and you would know all about running errands for whores, won't you, Avarice?" he responded. "Seeing as you would go to any lengths to keep Woodcraft on your ship." The Frenchman blanched, but his countenance remained intact. "You think I don't know? Oh, _capítan_, every seaman in Mediterranean knows _exactly_ how you feel towards her, and what you would do to keep her. You build up her trust, give her blind hope, and refuse to fulfil the promises you'd made to her; she deserves it, of course, but that doesn't change the immoral intentions you have towards her." He looked up to find part of the bane of his existence looking faintly uncomfortable.

Those grey eyes had hardened further when they'd finally met Lozano's ebony stare. "Exactly where is the _Madame_ now?"

"With your precious slave girl."

"I see." And he strode down towards the brig without another syllable.

**-**

**AN:** I know how irritating long author's notes can be, so to make this one short, basically I'll be posting up the next chapter in two weeks—I can guarantee this because I've already written it, but I think I'll wait, see if I can get into a routine; my plan was to initially update every week, but seeing how I'm writing two fics at once, and they're both PotC JackOCs, I think I'm justified. Also I will be getting one whole week off school — I'll try to write more then, but I can't promise anything.

**Thank you all for reading** — and **shimmering tears**, if you're still here (can't blame you if you're not) then yes, there is a lot going on, and it's MEANT to be confusing. That's why I was so happy when I received your review! Yeah, I have a rather complex plot; there's a lot of different storylines and arcs to it, and it's sometimes really hard to get it written down in front of me, but I do my best. Damned school workload…

(sighs) So much for short author's notes…


	10. Three Simple Reasons

**AN:** A belated merry Valentine's Day to ye—I've spent the better part of two evenings rewriting this chapter, 'cos romance? WAY too rushed. This chapter's for you, Cari Shidao—thanks for being such a loyal reader. Take as many imaginary muffin baskets as you wish. Oh, and a quick note: I know there's a lot of really random, unconnected stuff floating around this fic at the moment—and a bit more to come. But trust me, at the end, it will ALL come together. And now, to the chapter!

**A Witch's Daughter**

**_Chapter Ten:_**_ Three Simple Reasons_

"There you are!" Bill exclaimed a tad too loudly — and cheerfully. It made Catriona damn near fall overboard.

"Morning, Turner," she replied coldly, continuing to look out at the nearing island and pointedly ignoring the commotion of the crew as they prepared to weigh anchor. A moment of awkward silence passed. He could never remember a time, in all five years, when there hadn't been a comfortable companionship between them. And now what? He'd bloody saved her life, a rare feat he'd done very few times before, and she'd never held it against him then.

He blamed Jack for this. Besides a drastic relocation, that was the only factor that had changed. Speaking of which… Bootstrap cocked his head as he studied her. _Of course she'd have changed in five years, Turner_, he reprimanded himself. _Just because Jack hadn't in twice the time doesn't mean she'll remain a twelve-year-old as well._ Because Jack Sparrow, excluding a few trust issues, really hadn't matured from the unrestrained, impish twenty-year-old Bill had the good (depending how one looked at it) fortune of running into in London one fine day. Of course, he was a bright enough lad then, with an eye for adventure and a zeal for women that had actually left the elder Bill feeling proud.

"You're thinking about Sparrow, aren't ye?" Her almost accusing tone sliced through his musings, and Bill blinked several times before processing the question.

"Aye," he nodded. He saw her heave out a frustrated sigh as she turned her body so she was leaning against the wooden railing and looking directly at him, her lovely hair spilling over her shoulders and shining in the bright early sunlight. He was surprised at how concerned he'd suddenly felt as he cast his mind back to the night before, when she'd answered his knock on Sparrow's cabin door instead of the eccentric pirate captain himself. That one feature, worn so innocently down, elicited a pang of anxiety — hell, even anger — course through him. Almost automatically, he turned towards the helm, where the current subject of conversation was busying himself barking orders.

_His left hand is bandaged_, he noted with surprise. _How in blazes could he have managed that?_ His brown turned suspiciously onto the blonde girl, who was staring in the same direction with a kind of grudging respect on her face, and all his fears were put to rest.

She wasn't a normal girl — she wouldn't be won over so easily.

"I'm guessing from the expression on yer face ye ain't too fond o' him," Bill observed with a suddenly easy grin.

Her violet eyes turned to look at him in surprise, then guilt. "Do you want me to?" she asked meekly, hands resting on the railing.

He laughed — actually threw back his head and bloody laughed. The reaction caught her off guard. "Bill…" she started warningly, "it's a little too early to be drinkin', you know." He could vaguely imagine Jack's face if he'd overheard that little comment, and laughed harder. "Bill, the men are looking' at ye strangely," Cat pressed.

"Catriona, c'mon," he wheezed out, controlling his hysterical bouts of laughter. "Tell me why ye're so distant all of a sudden?" whom she was referring to. "Catriona," he said gently, all traces of mirth evanesce

The blonde struggled for a moment, still looking worryingly at him, before her face alit with her own grin. "No decent reason, really," she admitted readily. The sudden glow in her eyes died down. "I just…" she struggled for the right words. "I… Oh, _hell_!" She glanced back up at him. "You're not even _worried_, are you?" she accused.

Bill didn't have to ask to know to whom she was referring to. "Catriona," he said gently, all traces of mirth evanesced, "they're probably at the bottom o' Davey Jones by now."

"I know," she whispered hoarsely, crossing her arms. "But I don't believe that… I don't _want_ to believe that, Bill!" she continued almost desperately in that low tone. "_I don't want to!_"

"Calm down," he soothed, edging towards her. "Cat, just calm —"

"Don't you bloody tell me to calm down, Turner!" she almost yelled. "Don't you dare!" Catriona turned away from him, arms wrapped tightly around herself, to look out towards the nearing waterfront of Tortuga, shoulders occasionally shuddering.

Hesitantly, he stepped closer to her, reaching out to rest his palm upom her shoulder. When she didn't immediately shrug him off, he slowly turned her towards him, pulling the silently sobbing girl in a much-needed embrace. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

-x!x-x!x-

Tortuga wasn't as rowdy in the morning as it was at night; there were a few unconscious men, some wondering whores looking for a place to rest until evening, and pirates the worst for wear staggering towards the docks. There were also those few honest people busying themselves with law-abiding employment; it was these last that made up the majority of the morning crowd.

Nevertheless, no one appeared to have noticed the appearance of the sinister, battle-worn ebony ship docking into the bay, or the rabble that waltzed out down the newly-established plank onto the docks.

"Hold up," Jack said, immediately intercepting his best friend and the pretty girl he'd brought as their boots touched Tortugan soil. "I need some help."

"Been telling you that for years," Bootstrap muttered, a grin tugging at his lips.

Jack looked at his long-term companion in annoyance. The female merely narrowed her blue eyes at him in annoyance. It was to her he was addressing. "You're comin' with me, love," he informed her happily.

"I am? Oh, joy," she deadpanned, unconsciously edging closer to Bill.

"I knew ye'd be pleased," he continued, reaching out for her hand.

Woodcraft looked distrustfully at the proffered limb, considering his offer, weighing the very few options she had. He _really_ hadn't a clue why she loathed him so — it wasn't as if her hatred was aimed exclusively at the male species. The piratical captain waited impatiently for an answer. "All right," she allowed, accepting the suggestion with her own hand. She turned back to Bill. "I'll meet you in a tavern 'bout noon," she informed him. "Name one."

"Might I," Jack intervened, gently tugging her to his side and refusing to look away from her, "recommend the Bride?" He turned back to Bill. "You remember The Faithful Bride, don't ye?"

"Ain't that the tavern you'd met Barbossa in?" he queried as Jack silently released Catriona's hand as soon as he was convinced she was not planning on running madly in the opposite direction as soon as he'd loosened his hold on her. He doubted she wished to stay within any kind of proximity to him; an unusual trait in women, he'd found.

"Aye," he confirmed. "But no one else can beat their rum." He heard a snort from the lass to the left of him, but ignored her. "Don't you worry mate, I'll bring your lass back in time for your little rendezvous in one piece."

Bill gave a small smile. "That's not what I'm worried about," he commented, looking at the two of them with an expression that Jack couldn't pinpoint. Protective, perhaps? _Envious?_ It seemed he wasn't the only one to acquire a few trust issues in the past decade.

"Well, we'll just be on our merry way, then," he said in farewell. "If you'll be so kind, darlin'…" And with that, they strolled towards the thriving town.

"Where're we going?" she asked politely. Well, at least she wasn't threatening him with various cutlery. That's an improvement. "Exactly what is it that you need me, a complete and total stranger, to lend a hand?"

"Your hand would be nice and greatly appreciated," he commented. "But that's not what I'm after."

"Oh?" she asked, raising a golden eyebrow.

"Oh," he agreed. "But you're right; I have chosen you as opposed to Bill for one very obvious reason; you, my dear wanted murderer, are a woman."

"Girl," she corrected him, not liking the possible turn this conversation could take, but he shook his head.

"Woman," he insisted. "I wouldn't think so damn highly of you, or indeed have you accompanying at this very moment on this little errand o' mine, if ye were a mere a girl."

He could feel her uncommonly-coloured eyes upon his back. "Well… Legally speaking, I'm still a lass," she persisted.

Sparrow merely shrugged. "Maybe ye are; maybe you aren't," he said. "Somehow I doubt you loyally mark off a calendar every single day whilst ye were aboard the _Chimera_. You could be bleedin' twenty-two and not even know it."

"This is a pointless discussion," she indicated. "Really, why me? Why'd you ask for me instead of Bill?"

He glanced towards her, a glint in his eye. She felt a sudden anticipation grip her the moment his eyes made contact. "Why'd you think?" he asked.

"I'm…not really certain," she admittedly diffidently.

"Bedding." It was like a cannon had somehow shot out her brains.

"Be — _Bedding?_" she inquired a little too loudly. Several of the locals, and a good deal more of the sailors, turned to look at them. If she'd been paying him any mind, Catriona would have seen him wearing a very smug smirk at all the attention she'd drew, or rather, the nature of this attention. Several of the blokes gave him looks of approval (it was really too early for catcalls and besides, the pirate wench seemed preoccupied).

It was probably a good thing for him that she didn't.

"Aye, bedding," he validated. "What with you refurbishing me cabin with absolutely no authority, I think it's only fair you help me replace the bed that you'd dismembered."

"I _have not_ dismembered your bloody bed!" she snapped, but Jack merely shrugged.

"To be completely honest with ye, I'd been wanting to redo that room for a couple o' months now," he declared. "Wanted to burn every little thing that bastard Barbossa touched, and since meeting you…" he shrugged. "The bed seems the most logical place to start."

It was a perfectly good explanation. An innocent, honest-to-God, good explanation, and if she wanted to keep it that way, Catriona would have left the matter well alone. However… "What's that supposed to bloody mean, 'since meeting you the bed's the logical place to start'?" she challenged, and Jack's grin stretched even further.

"Three simple reasons," he replied. "One; you've bloody well put a bomb between the covers."

"I did not —"

"Two;" he continued, ignoring her heated defence, "that is very easily the most _used_ piece of furniture in the room. And three…" he trailed off as she patiently looked up at him. They were standing still now, stopping outside a musty workshop, and he grinned down at her, the sunlight glinting off a gold tooth. "Well, we'll just have to see about number three, won't we, love?" He pulled open the filthy door with the jingling of a small bell. "Shall we?"

-x!x-x!x-

Catriona spent that morning traipsing after Jack Sparrow, bearing witness as he flirted his way to one bargain after another; the carpenter's sister had negotiated for a whole new set of ebony furniture (and imported, no less!) for half the regular price; a lonely merchant's wife had arranged for a hefty amount of provisions to be transported to the _Black Pearl_ for a price well past the human definition of 'stupid'; yet another, this time a lawless connoisseur's only daughter, a large order of liquors smuggled from her father's private (filched) supply. In the end, the captain had gained not only enough supplies for several months at sea, but no less than six 'invitations'. A feat that Catriona had refused to acknowledge.

For the most part.

Trailing reluctantly behind him into The Faithful Bride, she was unable to resist one teeny, innocent little comment. "God, Sparrow, if you were born a woman…" Her observation was cut short by a partially gloved hand.

"Not. Another. Word." he advised, glancing warningly at her. She simply shook her head in reply, her eyes travelling over the half-filled tavern. He saw the blue orbs fill with a curious mixture of horror and annoyance.

"_There_ you are!" Elizabeth beamed, scurrying over, her ruffled sun-coloured skirts gathered in her hands. She looked a little more cleaned up since the night before, her dark blonde hair and pulled into a simple bun with loose strands escaping in such a way as to frame her face and accentuate her swanlike neck. Her fiancé sat at a distant table, apparently in deep conversation with his once estranged father, although judging from the way young William's brown eyes flickered in concern to his only love said otherwise. It seemed that both pirates' expressions were one and the same: _Good Lord, does that Turner _really_ have no life of his own?_

"I was just thinking of you!" she continued excitedly, still looking directly at a slightly awkward Catriona. "Good morning, Jack," she added as an afterthought.

"How bloody charming…"

"How long did you reckon it'll take to do up your _Pearl_ again?" the female pirate asked, desperate to disregard the unnecessarily friendly governor's daughter.

"Four, five days," he answered shortly with a glower. Then, sensing the girl's discomfort, he turned the conversation back to Elizabeth with a malicious glint in his eye. The elder of the women immediately narrow her brown eyes in suspicion. "Now, what was it you wanted Miss Woodcraft" he pushed the resisting corsair towards the gentlewoman roughly "for?"

"Oh, nothing important, really," Elizabeth began.

"Then I'm certain it can wait," Catriona put in hurriedly, starting to move past the well-meaning aristocrat. However, something prevented her from doing any such thing. That something had her gripped tightly by the elbow, inhibiting any escape attempts.

"Now, now, Catriona," Jack chastised a little too sweetly, his fingers gripping her forearm a little tighter as she tried yet again to escape, "be polite. Let Lizzie here speak." Her brow furrowed into a scowl before she turned her attention back to the now indifferent-looking Miss Swann.

Elizabeth's brown eyes bore directly into Catriona's. "Just a little shopping trip," she said half-heartedly, glancing behind her shoulder at father and son. "The only purpose of which is to give Will and his father some time alone together, or I wouldn't have bothered you."

"And where do I fit into this scheme of yours?" Jack, subtle as ever, contributed.

Elizabeth looked at him. "You just…do whatever it is that you do," she ordered unhelpfully, causing a pair of brown eyes to roll. "Well?" she addressed the uncooperative, unwilling pirate blonde.

The golden-haired girl's jaw twitched as she contemplated the pros and cons of shopping with a pleasant, amiable young woman or an afternoon watching a familial bond springing up between father and offspring accompanied by an annoying, enthusiastically vocal captain she knew naught about and _loathed_. A very difficult dilemma…

"See, she can't bear to part from me," Jack was saying to whomever was listening.

That tipped the scales in Lizzie's favour. "Shopping sounds like a good idea…" she murmured tamely. "Don't even 'ave a crown on me, though…" She was genuinely disappointed.

"Oh, that's perfectly all right!" Elizabeth beamed merrily (a stark contrast to a slightly ignored Jack). She pulled out a small worn purse "Mr Turner was gracious enough to —"

"Give away me gold?" Jack completed for her.

"It's more likely to be silver," Catriona pointed out.

"Despite that minor detail," Jack dismissed with a characteristic gesticulation, "it is still, without a doubt, _mine_."

"So you're saying _my_ captain was too tight on the purse strings to give Bill a generous amount of coin when 'e left?" Woodcraft challenged. Sensing an imminent clash of wills using that infamous female intuition, Elizabeth automatically stepped towards the younger girl, hand reaching out to grab her right wrist.

"I never said that — don't create a tiff out of an imagined snub, Catriona." He gave a typical smirk. "It's a bit too early for that in our relationship, ain't it?" The patronizing tone was not aiding his…whatever goal Jack had set himself involving her. Elizabeth gave a determined tug on the slender wrist, and those irritated eyes turned instead onto her.

"_Yes_?" she snapped. "Oh, I know; shopping." She twisted her wrist, and with one last look at a self-satisfied Jack Sparrow, spun on her heel and stormed out.

Elizabeth gave Jack a bemused, exasperated look, before following after the fair-coloured girl. "God help me…" she muttered, before turning back suddenly and ordering sharply for Jack to employ his full capacity for discretion.

"I'm always discreet, love," he replied unperturbed, spreading out his hands in a nonchalant manner. It was as if he was used to dealing with needlessly hostile, emotionally unstable, unfamiliar female corsairs on a daily basis. He gave her a mischievous wink. "Take care, darlin' — and try to come back from this little spree of yers unharmed. She seems a little temperamental this fine morn," he forewarned, not troubling to keep his voice down.

A slight smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head, giving him a slight nod as a farewell. Ignoring the two exiting figures completely, Jack cautiously made his way to the little scrubbed table, his mind already trying to decipher this latest development. Like why, for example, was this apparently living legend so mistrustful of him? He'd yet to steal her boat and/or seduce her fickle wife, as far as he knew.

And Elizabeth; what of _her_ volatile mood swings? Just this morning he saw traces of shed tears as of the previous evening, and now all of a sudden she was all wide smiles and bright eyes and shopping trips.

There was really only one way to the bottom of this:

A good, strong drink.

**-x!x-**

**AN:** What? No scene-shifting to the bad guys? What IS the world coming to?


	11. An Old Acquaintance

**Author's Note:** Yep, another long update…how many times have I been sacrificed to Hawaiian gods now? Anyways, I'm just here to say I've decided to halt the process of any unestablished romances because…because I feel like it. Yeah, that's right… That and it's rushed… 

A Witch's Daughter

Chapter Eleven: An Old Acquaintance

"So," Jack said, reclining languidly on the little settee and grinning easily up at his old friend, "what's all this talk 'bout treasure then?" Elizabeth had ordered — ordered _him_ — to leave two certain Turners alone in order to dissolve their estrangement (a great deal _this_ tactic will do), and the last time he was here the captain had received word from an old acquaintance — the very same man that had given him the compass pointing to Isla de Meurta, no less.

Erik von Strausviczt was perhaps the only pirate Jack had ever encountered (and he'd met quite a few) to retire from piracy to a life of quiet, middle-class respectability… Complete with a swooning trophy wife, a peg-legged younger brother, his demonic hellion of a son with a simpering gold-digging possible daughter-in-law, and several daughters of his own possessing varying personalities and traits. Indeed, the few times Jack had visited before (and he'd attempted to avoid such visits at all costs) had taught him that the library and study were the only safe havens within this bourgeois household.

Strausviczt himself had been a successful 'privateer' in his time, with the enviable skill of procuring letters of Marque (a trade secret he guarded to this day) from various governments and forging them for his own illegal (and profitable) purposes. When he'd retired as quartermaster of the ship the _Silent Cannon_, the amassed wealth, his brother's crippling, and this particular skill were the only tokens he'd kept as mementos of his life as a pirate.

As a direct result, there was a significant increase in the number of 'privateers' operating within the Caribbean Sea, causing a rising level of government hostility and operations of espionage in the past thirty years or so.

Amusing was what it was.

But back to the treasure…

"I assure you, Sparrow," Erik was saying, leaning forward with his fingers splayed out upon his desk and pointedly ignoring the correction of his guest's title, "that _this_ particular hoard does not in any way concern Aztecs, gods — of any kind! — curses, blood, skeletons, or moonlight in any shape or form."

"Mm-hmm…" The captain raised his eyebrow. "That's peculiar, seeing how I can recall a strikingly similar conversation a decade ago…" He fixed the Dutchman with his sternest glare. "So what you _really_ want to say is that there _is_ some innocent god a greedy conquistador pissed off, there _are_ some moonlit skeletons to be considered, and there _are_ sacrifices of a kind to be made?"

There was a slight pause in which the ticking of the grandfather clock grew conspicuously audible. Finally, Strausviczt gave his junior a sheepish grin. "Well…that could be closer to the truth of the matter…"

Jack let out an exasperated sigh, fingering the beads painstakingly braided into his beard. "Is that the _only_ sort of treasure ye know of?" he asked in a bored tone that simply radiated vexation. "Whate'er happened to the simple 'buried chest on a desert island' scenario? That's much less problematic; find a map, follow the trail to the 'X', and of course, remember the shovel." He paused, giving his case great consideration whilst Erik merely watched with a hint of a smile upon his lips. "Why do all pirates endorse in curses nowadays?"

"That's not quite — " Erik began, still suppressing a grin.

"I'll never put a curse on my treasure," Jack continued. "Seems unnecessarily harsh and cruel, and with the rates gypsies charge these days…"

"Very well, Captain," Erik interrupted, cutting short the promisingly pointless rant, "I shall simply tell you everything that I know of."

Jack flashed a gold-toothed grin. "Now that's more like it," he approved.

"Jack, this particular hoard was…'endorsed', as you so eloquently phrased it, by the god Loki."

There was a pause in which the clock's ticking was reintroduced. "Who?"

"Loki," Erik continued, sounding pleased that the pirate's knowledge of Norse mythology was significantly less than his. "A Viking god. According to legend, he was in actuality a giant, but a brother to the gods, and so technically a deity." His smile widened as he warmed up to his subject. "He was perhaps the only truly dark idol, as far as Viking Nordic beliefs go; the god of mischief and — "

"Hold up a minute," Jack interrupted, leaning forward in fascination. "What's all this about 'im being the _only_ dark idol?"

Erik shrugged in nonchalance. "Well, it seemed the most fitting way to introduce you to an immortal pyromaniac," he informed. A crooked grin found a way to his lips yet again at Jack's sudden look of discomfort. "I take it you're concerned."

"Now you listen here, Strausviczt," Jack began, "there are only three curses I'll accept; those to do with blood, those to do skeletons, and those to do with monkeys." Leaning back, he gave him a lopsided grin. "Now, does this particular curse have anything to do with any of the aforementioned entities?"

The faded redhead fidgeted with a gold pocket watch in embarrassment, looking more than a little put out as his guest patiently waited for a reply. A lazy smirk found its way onto Jack's face as he revelled in his own victory. And then…

"It mentions blood ties!"

The victorious grin immediately evanesced as Jack stared at his one-time mentor in disbelief. "_What_?"

"Blood ties!" Erik repeated with a smile that reminded Jack disturbingly of a lovesick schoolgirl. He strolled purposefully towards his writing desk, pulling a long gold chain from his inner pocket, from which dangled a key. Unlocking the top drawer, he rifled through several papers, pulling out several worthless objects of great (he assumed) sentimental value. Some Jack recognised, most he could only guess at; there was a charred, dirty rag which he was certain had been torn from the _Cannon_'s discarded sailcloth. And then there were those that left him completely baffled; a lock of braided hair of the palest yellow, tied with wool, was completely lost upon him, but if Erik was the same man he knew all those years ago, then it was probably some saint's relic used to ward off evil spirits. That, or a cheap token with which to remember his beloved departed mother by.

"Aha!" And with this exclamation of triumph, he fished out an ancient (and completely unremarkable) roll of vellum. "Here you go," he said, tossing the scroll to Jack, who, tilting forwards, deftly caught it.

Warily unfurling the roll of sheepskin, Jack glanced at its contents in feigned interest, immediately spotting a problem. "Ah, Strausviczt…"

"Yes?" the Dutchman responded impatiently.

"This isn't written in English," he confided.

"That's besides the point — "

"Or even remotely European, mate," Jack continued, twisting the encrypted message this way and that. "Unless you count those twisted 'M's, that is… Well, I think they're 'M's, at any rate…" He frowned in loathing. "Unless they be hearts…" He squinted at the unrecognisable characters. "Nay; definitely 'M's," he said in relief.

"Well, I'm glad we've got _that_ clarified," Erik huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a distinctly feminine manner, evidently riled at the captain's impertinent postponement.

"Aye, so am I," Jack concurred happily, apparently completely missing the sarcasm in his comrade's tone.

Erik von Strausviczt settled for giving his supposed inferior a look of unadulterated exasperation, attempting to gather his wits together. (The clock's ticking was introduced once again during this lapse in conversation.) "I…tried to get it translated," he finally began, finally recalling his train of thought.

"Oh, really? How? And by whom?"

Erik was silent for a moment as he carefully placed each superstitious object back to its rightful place. "There's a gypsy woman who lives a bit further inland — come to think of it, she spends most of her time in her son's hut on top of a hill by the sea, but that's beside the point — anyway, she refuses to tell me anything 'til the sky bleeds — "

"I assume this is a metaphor of some kind," Jack intervened. "And let me tell you this; rain and monsoons are very regular occurrences in this part of the world; some may even venture so far as to say common…"

"_And_ until two specific people show up…" Here he paused, gazing intently at Jack's face.

"What?" he pressed, confused at the sudden interest.

"She gave me names," he started hesitantly. "Names written in that scroll…"

"And?" he prodded impetuously. "What poor elite clique must we kidnap so as to fulfil our avaricious ends? And how many are a part of this exclusive society?"

"Just two," he said grimly. "John Raven and Catherine Carpenter."

"Ah." Thoughtfully, Jack leaned back. "So this is why you approached me with this particular venture…"

"Yes," Erik confirmed. "_John Raven_… Think about it, Jack, think very carefully now…"

"Are you sure this isn't a hoax of some kind?" he said sharply. "What if it's merely a trap set to get us all killed?"

"_John Raven_, Sparrow?" Erik repeated. "It's not a well-known name — "

"But it ain't a rare one either," Jack insisted. "John's a well-known English name. If a boy's not named Edward, William, James or George, chances are he'll be christened John. Raven's a well-known bird; I'm sure there's quite a few families that's decided to adopt that as a surname." His gaze returned to the scroll. "An' it's a little too much of a coincidence, don't ye agree?"

"Then let's leave John," Erik pacified. "How 'bout Catherine Carpenter?"

"Catherine; the same goes for 'er. There's Mary, Elizabeth, Anne and Catherine. All common English girls' names. And there's probably more Carpenters than there are Ravens. Although, if we were to take that literally, the complete opposite would probably be true…" He paused. "Besides, do we really know anyone called Catherine Carpenter?" he enquired. "No." He smirked, as though this would be enough to dissuade his friend.

But Erik would not be so easily deterred. "But John Raven, Jack," he persisted, throwing his hands in the air at the man's obstinacy. Strolling across the room, he seated himself besides his hypothetical subordinate. "It can't be a hoax; I'm an antiques' collector; I know a genuine sixteenth-century scroll when I see one, even if the contents are completely illegible."

"Of course you do," Jack patronized.

"It's more likely a prophecy: one that is unfolding at this very moment in time. Don't you dare roll your eyes at me!" he rebuked at his visitor's exasperation. "Why are you always so damned cynical, Sparrow?"

"There's still the conundrum of Carpenter's identity," Jack maintained, refusing to be won over.

"Forget about Carpenter for a moment!" Strausviczt snapped. "Think of John Raven, damn it!"

"Fine," Jack acknowledged. "Let's assume that this John Raven is the same John you and I speak of. There's always the slight problem of his being dead."

"That may be," Erik argued, "but he most certainly left something — or rather, some_one_ — to remember him by." His pale grey eyes levelled with Jack's deep brown. "Didn't he, Jack?"

x!x-

She was running as fast as her ball-gown-hindered legs and sore, high-heeled-covered feet would permit her, running faster than she'd ever ran in her life. Her breathing was ragged, her lungs screaming for oxygen, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of pausing for breath or rest for her aching muscles. She had to keep running, she _had to_ — she mustn't break her stride until she'd escaped from it all — the town, the crowds…_it_…

That thing; that terrifying, twisted, nefarious _thing_.

; that terrifying, twisted, nefarious . 

"Swann!" Catriona cried out, striving to keep up. (And failing. Miserably. And degradingly — _she_ was meant to be the sailor of the two!) "What are you — why — oh, _fuck_ this!" And with a burst of speed, her outstretched hand finally clamped tightly on the aristocrat's wrist, attempting to snap the slender joint in half.

It wasn't enough — Elizabeth refused point-blank to decelerate her horror-induced sprint, and the blonde only succeeded in causing the elder girl to stumble, causing herself to collapse in the process, and they both staggered, Elizabeth attempting and inevitably freeing her wrist of her captor before lurching forwards, her outstretched hands breaking her fall.

Silently thanking whatever deities saw fit to bestow upon her this precious pause of her pursuit, Catriona skidded to a halt and almost overbalanced. Leaning forward with her hands on her knees, she glared up through her curtain of loose locks, panting for breath as her pulse sluggishly returned to its natural pace. When it no longer pained her chest to speak, she finally rasped out, "And what — the hell — was _that — _all…about?" Unadulterated rage and irritation pulsated throughout every fibre of her being. Exactly _why_ was she assigned to babysitting the flighty governor's daughter, anyway? Ah, yes, it all started out once upon a shopping trip…

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she focused her blue eyes on the gentlewoman's angelic face — and was stunned at the look of utter fear and apprehension she saw there. "Elizabeth?" she asked. "What is it?" But she knew there was really only one way to find out.

She turned slowly, nigh reluctantly, to look behind, images of monsters, demons and other unnatural creatures flashing through her mind, each worse than the last, only to see —

The moon. The pale yellow, circular entity suspended in the deep blue of the early twilight sky. The bawdy town of Tortuga, with its illuminated windows and buildings, uninhibited livestock, the settlement glittering as a beacon of…something positive, she was certain. Its glow, which caused the settlement to be exceedingly silhouetted against the jagged mountains that fashioned the majority of the isle's landscape, paled considerably with the luminous, consistent radiance of the disc threaded amongst the distant stars.

…Selene had always placed particular emphasis upon the distant discus…

x!-x!x-

"It symbolises the Goddess," she'd said as she combed through her infant daughter's drenched golden tresses. "In one cycle you can see all the stages of a woman's life; birth, childhood and maidenhood, motherhood, old age and death."

"And the sun?" the toddler piped up, thinking of the bright, warming counterpart of the day. "What does tha' mean?"

"That_," she emphasised, quick to pick up on any lapses in speech her only child made, "symbolises the God, the male; can't you guess, kitten? It wakes up and then it goes to bed; the two most basic functions of living." _

The young Catriona pouted. "Don't care," she'd proudly declared. "I like the sun more, it's always_ there!" _

Selene had given her sweet mellifluous laugh. "You're still young," she'd allowed. "Soon you'll appreciate the night." She gave the fair head a quick kiss. "Now you run along to bed; Mary will be here shortly."

Thatalways 

x!x!-

…Yes, the moon had always held a place in their hearts… And she realized with a jolt that she, a girl nearing adulthood, and a pirate _legend_ nonetheless, still longed for mummy…

"What the _hell_ — "

Because the moon — the wonderful, symbolic moon that was attached to so many fond memories of childhood… The moon was turning _red_: a deep, lustrous crimson was trickling across the surface, staining the unsoiled yellow. As both Catriona and Elizabeth watched in morbid fascination, scarlet lightning flashed across the heavens, turning the deepening blue into an intense canvas of blood before the sky reverted to its customary hue.

But neither of the pair noticed it — they barely took note of one another, seeing how each had apparently gone into a catatonic state. Their eyes, one pair deepest blue and the other sweetest brown, were transfixed on the bleeding moon, watching in macabre enthralment as the ruby dye gradually painted the yellow-white. Words had failed them both; they could only watch in horror as the light of the night steadily metamorphosed into a badge of blood…of death. For one, it was an ill sign, an omen of the gravest of fates, an emblem of supernatural happenings with dangerous consequences. For the other, it was the tainting of memories, the destruction of faith, the shattering of reality as she knew it.

Elizabeth was the first to recover from her shock. "It's going to rain," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. No sooner had she finished voicing her notion did the first drop of liquid fall upon the cheek of a governor's only child.

Warm water…burgundy fluid…_blood_…

Her hand flew up to gently touch the droplet as another, and then another, dripped slowly from the wounded sky. _I'm going to be sick…_

Catriona could barely gather her wits to form a coherent thought, much less _speak_… She stood, frozen to her place, her deceptively black eyes transfixed upon the bloodied entity. She dropped to her knees as the blood continued to fall in its sluggish manner, trickling across her face and down her neck, soaking her faded clothes, staining her blonde hair…

Mist was rising, slowly intensifying, rising from the ground as the humid temperature suddenly plummeted to that of a frigid winter. Swirling grey mist that she'd witnessed only during rainy winters in England… She was drowning in the haze…

As she continued to stare straight ahead, her blue eyes were able to make out a distant figure approaching… A dark, solid silhouette in this world of grey fog… As it drew closer, she was able to make out several features; a dark cloak, a nose, lips, eyes… She recognised the person immediately: in spite of everything that had happened so far, it was this that disturbed her the most, shaking her to the very core of her being.

"Catriona?" The voice of Elizabeth was distant, unreachable, irrelevant, unimportant as her eyes remained riveted to the woman approaching her.

I thought she was dead…

x!x-

AN: Ooh, cliffhanger! Did this make up for the wait? I sure hope it did… Jess I know you're reading, so please review!


	12. What She Forgot

**AN:** Wow, update today AND yesterday? The world must be ending…

** A Witch's Daughter **

_**Chapter Twelve:** What She Forgot, or "Good Morning, The Sky Rained Blood Yesterday"_

Jack woke up with a pounding head and the strongest feeling of nakedness and overexposure he'd felt yet. It took him a moment to realize that the reason for such a feeling was due entirely to a very large bed and a busty blonde woman on the other side hogging the covers. As he looked at her, he tried to piece together the exact events of the previous day and night before, and separate them from a rather random — not to mention graphic — dream he'd grudgingly awoken from.

Perhaps it'll be easier to start off with the surprising and vivid dream he'd reluctantly left for reality. It was a fantasy, no point in denying it, involving gold, indoor ponds, and his own personal harem. He'd dreamed of gold before — it was practically in the job description of piracy to do such a thing — but harems and indoor ponds, not so much (if ever).

What was so peculiar was in the dream, there was an ongoing war, a beautiful Oriental-looking woman emanating a golden-silver light, and…and…

The dream went like this:

"_Kalikratai," a female voice called softly to him. Soft hands encircled his bare waist; a warm body pressed intimately against his back. Smiling slightly, he placed a hand over one of her own and quickly spun the Oriental woman into his arms._

_She was beautiful; her eyes were a pale silver, set in glowing golden skin, her hair long and straight, shimmering ebony. Her laughing face looked adoringly up at him, love and devotion evident in her every glance. Her long clinging dress was of a fine red muslin, gold edging the hem. A gold headpiece, small but intricately wrought, set with gems, adorned her hair, similar bands matching her arm, wrist and ankle._

_She wasn't just any goddess; she was _the_ Goddess, his Shikono. She toyed with one of his braids affectionately. "Have you heard about the latest siege?" she asked softly._

"_Who, where and when?" he indulged._

"_Us against Svawiya." she said. "He's a fool, a loving, trusting fool, my Svarnir," she said in disdain, although her beautiful eyes sparkled maliciously. "The capture of his beloved Karamityris was insultingly effortless."_

"_His consort?" he asked sharply._

_She looked straight into his brown eyes. "She's meant to be very beautiful, I heard," she went on. "Even more beautiful than I."_

"_That's not possible," he chastised, kissing her gently and ignoring the forty-seven other scantily-clad women of the seraglio, "she's like me — human."_

"_Yes, and I'll choose you over Svarnir any day," she sighed. "But I wouldn't be surprised — he did create her to be what he believed was perfect." She looked out towards the golden sands stretching out from beneath the balcony. "As for human…That's set to change very soon. Like myself, he's considering granting her immortality."_

"_Yes," he leapt, "about that…"_

"_But she's still human," Shikono interrupted. "And she _is_ quite pretty, actually."_

_He just smiled. "I think you're jealous."_

"_I hate her," she admitted freely. "Ever since the moment she'd opened her damned blue eyes, I'd hated her." She paused before she laughed. "I hate her so very much, I'm given to you as another mistress," she cackled spitefully, and he shivered. Although he did love her for all of the things she had given him, everything she had done for him, and the countless others that were indubitably still to come, there were times when he was afraid of her, this beautiful creature that was beyond the devils or angels she herself had created._

"_Would you like to meet your new plaything?" she cooed._

_He didn't even have to think about it. Karamityris: the mortal Queen of the whole of Svanir's realm, the creature considered more beautiful, more desirable than his own Goddess._

_Of course he hated her; she seemed arrogant and pretentious, thinking that she could merely replace Shikono by sleeping with a God. But then again, that was the entire reason she was created…_

"_Yes," he smirked, "I think I would."_

_Her smile widened. She turned back to the large door directly opposite the balcony. She simply clapped her hands twice, and by some uncannily precise intuition possessed by every single slave and servant in this palace built just for him, the double doors swung open, and a pale creature, in a flimsy dress of white and silvered muslin, was dragged, twisting and turning between two indifferent soldiers, and flung at his feet._

_He looked down at her in detached curiosity. Her arms were encircled by bands of gentle silver, as was her throat, her straight hair entwined with milky pearls and opals. Everything about her was pale white and graceful silver, except for her hair, a deep shade of gold. He was certain her eyes would be silver, like his Shikono's, and her lips as pale as her skin._

_Hardly as beautiful at all, her colouring._

"_How dare you keep your face turned away from your lord!" Shikono snapped. "Look at him!"_

_Very slowly, the captured queen raised her head, a few golden strands spilling over her face, and looked directly into his own brown eyes with her detesting deep blue._

x!x-x!x-

Random, no?

Especially the last part, where he recognised the powerful queen to be Catriona: older, aristocratic, and more exotic, but still, without a shadow of a doubt, that same pirate with a 'holier-than-thou' glower. He smirked as he recalled how she was dragged towards him, twisting and turning in that flimsy dress. Her body had certainly…matured, even if her face remained the same.

He wondered if he'll ever be able to see her in a thin gown of silver-threaded muslin.

It'll be a very happy day for him if he did.

x!x-x!x-

When Elizabeth had awoken, she realized that she was lying on a makeshift bed of a pile of rags clad in only her undergarments and a thick but itchy cover to keep her decent. An old woman was a little way from her in this tiny cramped hut, her elaborate deep yellow dress in hand as she attempted to wash out in a worn bowl what looked like red paint.

But it wasn't paint… _It was blood._

Visions of the night before flashed before her: seeing that creature, the pirate chasing her, the same pirate fainting, her and an old woman carrying said pirate back to a hut, the sky raining blood…

She hoped _that_ wasn't going to be a regular occurrence.

"Ah," the old crone greeted warmly, "good morning to ye, Miss." She was a kind-looking woman, this ancient one, this wise one. Her hair was a mass of black, with only one vivid streak of grey, her brown skin was creased, and her laughing eyes dark green. She had the appearance of a rose, faded and withered away, but still beautiful, still graceful. She approached Elizabeth with a bowl of fruit and bread, setting it down gently before her. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you the bed," she began apologetically, "but favouritism is a powerful force to be reckoned with."

Elizabeth looked towards the small cot stashed away in the corner, where she saw Catriona's sleeping form resting heavily on the small mattress. The covers rested on her bare hips, her pale hair spread across her back and pillow, breathing gently.

"Do you know her, Madam?" she asked.

"Yes I did, Miss," she replied, returning to her task of washing Elizabeth's dress. "I knew her dear ma as well, God rest her soul…" She stopped right there, looking into the red water, and let out a mirthless laugh. "God rest her soul indeed," she continued harshly, "but that lass there should be counting 'er lucky stars that whore died when she did."

Elizabeth looked down at the bowl in front of her, trying not to show her interest. The thing is, she was curious to know what did happen that made the younger girl embark on a life of piracy. The woman did not elaborate, turning to an entirely different topic. "I doubt she's very fond of you, that lass lying there, but don't take it too personally, Miss. Ever since the age of twelve when her ma kicked it she's 'ad a hatred of law-abiding Britons, and exactly seven years yesterday of hatred and scorn is a lot to work through. I'm sure you'll get through to her eventually, though; you seem a sweet enough lass, and what with what you've both saw yesterday…"

Something about what she just said didn't seem to add up: according to this woman, Catriona was, in fact, nineteen. Maybe that was plausible; calendars weren't the most common of objects aboard pirate ships. But moving on… "Are you referring to the blood?" she asked sharply.

"Aye, that and the monster you saw in the town." How could she have known about that!

"Why didn't you tell young Cat here about it?" she asked gently. "I know she would have appreciated it if ye did…"

"No, she would have thought I was insane if I did," Elizabeth corrected sharply. "Anyone would…"

"She would have been relieved," the anonymous woman firmly insisted. "She'd have been glad to know she wasn't the only that always saw demons and angels and whate'er's in between."

Elizabeth kept her brown eyes firmly on a bunch of grapes.

"I stopped seeing them shortly after I arrived in Port Royal," she said softly, trustingly, "and I'd never thought of them since. I'd always thought they were childish flights of fancy, illusions created by an infantile mind…"

"They were real, are real," the woman said. "Creatures trying to scare both you and Catriona out of your wits, because they know you both can hurt them."

Elizabeth closed her eyes in confusion. She _knew_ there was something strange about Catriona… She knew that because she possessed the same inhuman ability herself.

"There's a lot more to your powers than just seeing things, Miss Swann," the wise woman said. "But I can't actually tell you what; I don't even know myself." She stopped, frowning. "But I'll tell you this," she continued, "without going into too much detail: you have your Mr Turner to thank for that, and Catriona…"

The girl stirred, groaning ever so slightly.

"Catriona has Jack Sparrow to appreciate, although this entire affair's both their fault…" And she suddenly stopped her explanation.

There was a knock on the door.

x!x-x!x-

Jack had left a panicked William fretting over the misplacement of his future spouse and an eye-rolling Bootstrap in the Faithful Bride to pay for breakfast when Erik had approached him with his dark, mysterious, peg-legged younger brother that Jack had often resented following him: Ville. Raven-haired, golden-eyed and unnaturally pale-skinned, he was what Jack would class as 'disturbing' and what women swooned over as 'mysterious'.

"Good morning, Jack," Erik greeted gleefully, "the sky rained blood last night. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Maybe for some," Jack replied distractedly, looking pointedly at a certain Scandinavian brunet.

"It's wonderful to see you once again after all this time, Sparrow," Ville acknowledged politely.

"Captain," Jack corrected arrogantly.

"Ah yes, after ten years of carrying that title, you finally find a ship to match," Ville remarked.

"The technical term is 'retrieve'."

"Jack," Bill had cut in, "might you be so kind as to introduce us?"

"With, pleasure, Bootstrap," Jack replied smoothly. "Erik von Strausviczt, please meet Bill Turner and his son, William. Oh, and _that's_ Ville, Erik's _little_ brother."

"The sky was bleeding last night," Erik insisted. "Now all we need is to get that damned scroll translated."

"What scroll?" Bill asked sharply.

"Oh, an encrypted scroll of the city of Thebes leading to a Viking-cursed treasure," Jack explained.

"But Thebes is in Africa," Bill pointed out.

"It's a treasure hoard of international proportions, Bootstrap," Jack reminded irritably. "Let it go."

"Fine," he said in disgust of inaccurate history and geography. "But Thebes and Vikings just aren't connected…"

"_Bill_…"

He raised his hands in defence. "Consider the matter dropped."

"That's very kind of you," Jack said, standing. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I've a gypsy crone to threaten." And that was when the two Dutchmen and pirate left.

The walk to the hut atop of the hill was quite peaceful, low insults and meticulously-disguised barbs aside. Standing in front of the small shabby door, Erik knocked sharply upon the wood.

The door was opened by a thin elderly woman with wavy black hair and inquisitive green eyes. "Oh God, not you again," she groaned on spying Erik's cheerful face.

"I'm afraid so," Jack quipped, lip raised in a smirk.

"_Jack?_" a familiar female voice asked in disbelief. As if in confirmation, Elizabeth's pretty face appeared behind the old crone, clad in only a lacy white shift.

"Please come in," the gypsy woman said wearily, stepping back to allow all three men entrance to her humble abode.

As the door shut behind him, Jack scanned the single large room whilst making a passing comment to Elizabeth. "The eunuch's looking for you," he said whilst the gypsy pulled out three of the four chairs situated around a scrubbed table.

Then his eyes fell upon the bed in the corner. His eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise at seeing her in such a vulnerable state at such an unexpected time.

Perhaps _this_ would be that happy day…

**x!x-**

**AN:** I know that was just sleazy, but I've just realized sleaze was amusing, and I had to had some 'romantic' developments in there one way or another…

**Jess and Amy:** For God's sake, if you're going to communicate, can you at least do it the normal way, with telephones and email! DON'T SEND ME FALSE REVIEWS!


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